AROUND THE WORLD

IN EIGHTY DAYS

BY

JULES VERNE

TRANSLATED BY

GEORGE MAKEPEACE TOWLE

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CHAPTER I

In which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout accept
each other, the one as master, the other as man

M

R. PHILEAS FOGG lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington
Gardens, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814. He was one of the
most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed always
to avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage, about whom
little was known, except that he was a polished man of the world.
People said that he resembled Byron,—at least that his head was
Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a
thousand years without growing old.

Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg
was a Londoner. He was never seen on ’Change, nor at the Bank, nor
in the counting-rooms of the “City;” no ships ever came into London
docks of which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had
never been entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple,
or Lincoln’s Inn, or Gray’s Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in
the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen’s Bench, or
the Ecclesiastical Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor
was he a merchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the
scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take part
in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London
Institution, 8 the Artisan’s Association or the Institution of Arts and
Sciences. He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies
which swarm in the English capital, from the Harmonic to that of the
Entomologists, founded mainly for the purpose of abolishing pernicious
insects.

Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was all.

The way in which he got admission to this exclusive club was simple
enough.

He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open credit.
His checks were regularly paid at sight from his account current,
which was always flush.

Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best could
not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the last
person to whom to apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor,
on the contrary, avaricious; for whenever he knew that money was
needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it
quickly, and sometimes anonymously. He was, in short, the least
communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed all the
more mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite
open to observation; but whatever he did was so exactly the same thing
that he had always done before, that the wits of the curious were
fairly puzzled.

Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world
more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear
to have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a
few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by members of the
club as to lost and unheard-of travellers, pointing out the true
probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sort of second sight,
so often did events justify his predictions. He must have travelled
everywhere, at least in the spirit.

It9 was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself
from London for many years. Those who were honoured by a better
acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could
pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes were
reading the papers and playing whist. He often won at this game,
which, as a silent one, harmonized with his nature; but his winnings
never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities.
Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game
was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a
motionless, unwearying struggle, congenial to his tastes.

Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which
may happen to the most honest people; either relatives or near
friends, which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone in his house
in Saville Row, whither none penetrated. A single domestic sufficed
to serve him. He breakfasted and dined at the club, at hours
mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same table, never
taking his meals with other members, much less bringing a guest with
him; and went home at exactly midnight, only to retire at once to
bed. He never used the cosy chambers which the Reform provides for
its favoured members. He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in
Saville Row, either in sleeping or making his toilet. When he chose
to take a walk, it was with a regular step in the entrance hall
with its mosaic flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome
supported by twenty red porphyry Ionic columns, and illumined by
blue painted windows. When he breakfasted or dined, all the resources
of the club—its kitchens and pantries, its buttery and dairy—aided
to crowd his table with their most succulent stores; he was served by
the gravest waiters, in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles,
who proffered the viands in special porcelain, and on the finest
linen; club decanters, 10 of a lost mould, contained his sherry, his
port, and his cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages were
refreshingly cooled with ice, brought at great cost from the American
lakes.

If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed
that there is something good in eccentricity!

The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was exceedingly
comfortable. The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but
little from the sole domestic; but Phileas Fogg required him to be
almost superhumanly prompt and regular. On this very 2nd of October
he had dismissed James Forster, because that luckless youth had
brought him shaving-water at eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit instead
of eighty-six; and he was awaiting his successor, who was due at the
house between eleven and half-past.

Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his arm-chair, his feet close
together like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on
his knees, his body straight, his head erect; he was steadily watching
a complicated clock which indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds,
the days, the months, and the years. At exactly half-past eleven Mr.
Fogg would, according to his daily habit, quit Saville Row, and repair
to the Reform.

A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where
Phileas Fogg was seated, and James Forster, the dismissed servant,
appeared.

“The new servant,” said he.

A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.

“You are a Frenchman, I believe,” asked Phileas Fogg, “and your name
is John?”

“Jean, if monsieur pleases,” replied the new-comer, “Jean Passepartout,
a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness for
going out of one business into another. I believe I’m honest, monsieur,
but, to be11 outspoken, I’ve had several trades. I’ve been an itinerant
singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard, and dance
on a rope like Blondin. Then I got to be a professor of gymnastics, so
as to make better use of my talents; and then I was a sergeant fireman
at Paris, and assisted at many a big fire. But I quitted France five
years ago, and, wishing to taste the sweets of domestic life, took
service as a valet here in England. Finding myself out of place, and
hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg was the most exact and settled
gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in the hope
of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the name of
Passepartout.”

“Passepartout suits me,” responded Mr. Fogg. “You are well recommended
to me; I hear a good report of you. You know my conditions?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Good. What time is it?”

“Twenty-two minutes after eleven,” returned Passepartout, drawing an
enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.

“You are too slow,” said Mr. Fogg.

“Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible—”

“You are four minutes too slow. No matter; it’s enough to mention the
error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m.,
this Wednesday, October 2nd, you are in my service.”

Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his
head with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.

Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new master
going out. He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor, James
Forster, departing in his turn. Passepartout remained alone in the
house in Saville Row.

CHAPTER II

In which Passepartout is convinced
that he has at last found his ideal

“F

AITH,” muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, “I’ve seen people
at Madame Tussaud’s as lively as my new master!”

Madame Tussaud’s “people,” let it be said, are of wax, and are much
visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human.

During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been
carefully observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty years
of age, with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure;
his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled,
his face rather pale, his teeth magnificent. His countenance possessed
in the highest degree what physiognomists call “repose in action,” a
quality of those who act rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, with
a clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English composure
which Angelica Kauffmann has so skilfully represented on canvas. Seen
in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being
perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy chronometer.
Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed
even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well
as in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions.

He13 was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, and
was economical alike of his steps and his motions. He never took one
step too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest
cut; he made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen to be moved
or agitated. He was the most deliberate person in the world, yet always
reached his destination at the exact moment.

He lived alone, and so to speak, outside of every social relation;
and as he knew that in this world account must be taken of friction,
and that friction retards, he never rubbed against anybody.

As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris. Since he had
abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet, he
had in vain searched for a master after his own heart.
Passepartout was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by
Molière, with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was
an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding,
soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good round head, such as one
likes to see on the shoulders of a friend. His eyes were blue, his
complexion rubicund, his figure almost portly and well-built, his
body muscular, and his physical powers fully developed by the
exercises of his younger days. His brown hair was somewhat tumbled;
for while the ancient sculptors are said to have known eighteen
methods of arranging Minerva’s tresses, Passepartout was familiar
with but one of dressing his own: three strokes of a large-tooth comb
completed his toilet.

It would be rash to predict how Passepartout’s lively nature would
agree with Mr. Fogg. It was impossible to tell whether the new
servant would turn out as absolutely methodical as his master
required; experience alone could solve the question. Passepartout had
been a sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for
repose; but so far he had failed to find it, though he had already
served in ten English houses. 14 But he could not take root in any of
these; with chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and
irregular, constantly running about the country, or on the look-out
for adventure. His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of
Parliament, after passing his nights in the Haymarket taverns, was
too often brought home in the morning on policemen’s shoulders.
Passepartout, desirous of respecting the gentleman whom he served,
ventured a mild remonstrance on such conduct; which being ill received,
he took his leave. Hearing that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a
servant, and that his life was one of unbroken regularity, that he
neither travelled nor stayed from home overnight, he felt sure that
this would be the place he was after. He presented himself, and was
accepted, as has been seen.

At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in the
house in Saville Row. He began its inspection without delay, scouring
it from cellar to garret. So clean, well-arranged, solemn a mansion
pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail’s shell, lighted and
warmed by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes. When
Passepartout reached the second story, he recognized at once the
room which he was to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it.
Electric bells and speaking-tubes afforded communication with the
lower stories; while on the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely
like that in Mr. Fogg’s bedchamber, both beating the same second at
the same instant. “That’s good, that’ll do,” said Passepartout to himself.

He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon
inspection, proved to be a programme of the daily routine of the
house. It comprised all that was required of the servant, from eight
in the morning, exactly at which hour Phileas Fogg rose, till half-past
eleven, when he left the house for the Reform Club,—all the details
of service, the tea15 and toast at twenty-three minutes past eight, the
shaving-water at thirty-seven minutes past nine, and the toilet at
twenty minutes before ten. Everything was regulated and foreseen that
was to be done from half-past eleven a.m. till midnight, the hour at
which the methodical gentleman retired.

Mr. Fogg’s wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste. Each
pair of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time
of year and season at which they were in turn to be laid out for
wearing; and the same system was applied to the master’s shoes. In
short, the house in Saville Row, which must have been a very temple
of disorder and unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan,
was cosiness, comfort, and method idealized. There was no study, nor
were there books, which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg;
for at the Reform two libraries, one of general literature and the
other of law and politics, were at his service. A moderate-sized safe
stood in his bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as
burglars; but Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weapons
anywhere; everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits.

Having scrutinized the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his
hands, a broad smile overspread his features, and he said joyfully,
“This is just what I wanted! Ah, we shall get on together, Mr. Fogg
and I! What a domestic and regular gentleman! A real machine; well,
I don’t mind serving a machine.”

CHAPTER III

In which a conversation takes place
which seems likely to cost Phileas Fogg dear

P

HILEAS FOGG, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven,
and having put his right foot before his left five hundred and
seventy-five times, and his left foot before his right five hundred
and seventy-six times, reached the Reform Club, an imposing edifice
in Pall Mall, which could not have cost less than three millions. He
repaired at once to the dining-room, the nine windows of which open
upon a tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded with an
autumn colouring; and took his place at the habitual table, the cover
of which had already been laid for him. His breakfast consisted of a
side-dish, a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of
roast beef garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart,
and a morsel of Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with
several cups of tea, for which the Reform is famous. He rose at
thirteen minutes to one, and directed his steps towards the large
hall, a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly framed paintings.
A flunkey handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut with
a skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate operation.
The perusal of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter
before four, whilst the Standard, his next task, occupied him till
the dinner hour. Dinner passed as breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg17
reappeared in the reading-room and sat down to the Pall Mall at
twenty minutes before six. Half an hour later several members of the
Reform came in and drew up to the fireplace, where a coal fire was
steadily burning. They were Mr. Fogg’s usual partners at whist: Andrew
Stuart, an engineer; John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas
Flanagan, a brewer; and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the
Bank of England;—all rich and highly respectable personages, even in
a club which comprises the princes of English trade and finance.

“Well, Ralph,” said Thomas Flanagan, “what about that robbery?”

“Oh,” replied Stuart, “the bank will lose the money.”

“On the contrary,” broke in Ralph, “I hope we may put our hands on
the robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principal
ports of America and the Continent, and he’ll be a clever fellow if
he slips through their fingers.”

“But have you got the robber’s description?” asked Stuart.

“In the first place, he is no robber at all,” returned Ralph,
positively.

“What! a fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no
robber?”

“No.”

“Perhaps he’s a manufacturer, then.”

“The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman.”

It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his newspaper,
who made this remark. He bowed to his friends, and entered into the
conversation. The affair which formed its subject, and which was town
talk, had occurred three days before at the Bank of England. A package
of bank-notes, to the value of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been
taken from the principal cashier’s table, that functionary being at
the moment engaged in registering the18 receipt of three shillings and
sixpence. Of course he could not have his eyes everywhere. Let it be
observed that the Bank of England reposes a touching confidence in
the honesty of the public. There are neither guards nor gratings to
protect its treasures; gold, silver, bank-notes are freely exposed, at
the mercy of the first comer. A keen observer of English customs
relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had
the curiosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight
pounds. He took it up, scrutinized it, passed it to his neighbour, he
to the next man, and so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand,
was transferred to the end of a dark entry; nor did it return to its
place for half an hour. Meanwhile, the cashier had not so much as
raised his head. But in the present instance things had not gone so
smoothly. The package of notes not being found when five o’clock
sounded from the ponderous clock in the “drawing office,” the amount
was passed to the account of profit and loss. As soon as the robbery
was discovered, picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool, Glasgow,
Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by the
proffered reward of two thousand pounds, and five per cent. on the sum
that might be recovered. Detectives were also charged with narrowly
watching those who arrived at or left London by rail, and a judicial
examination was at once entered upon.

There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph said,
that the thief did not belong to a professional band. On the day of
the robbery a well-dressed gentleman of polished manners, and with a
well-to-do air, had been observed going to and fro in the paying-room,
where the crime was committed. A description of him was easily
procured, and sent to the detectives; and some hopeful spirits, of
whom Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension. The papers
and clubs were full of the affair, and19 everywhere people were
discussing the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform
Club was especially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.

Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was likely
to be in vain, for he thought that the prize offered would greatly
stimulate their zeal and activity. But Stuart was far from sharing
this confidence; and as they placed themselves at the whist-table,
they continued to argue the matter. Stuart and Flanagan played
together, while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for his partner. As the
game proceeded the conversation ceased, excepting between the
rubbers, when it revived again.

“I maintain,” said Stuart, “that the chances are in favour of the
thief, who must be a shrewd fellow.”

“Well, but where can he fly to?” asked Ralph. “No country is safe
for him.”

“Pshaw!”

“Where could he go, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know that. The world is big enough.”

“It was once,” said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone. “Cut, sir,” he added,
handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.

The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up
its thread.

“What do you mean by ‘once’? Has the world grown smaller?”

“Certainly,” returned Ralph. “I agree with Mr. Fogg. The world has
grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times more quickly
than a hundred years ago. And that is why the search for this thief
will be more likely to succeed.”

“And also why the thief can get away more easily.”

“Be so good as to play, Mr. Stuart,” said Phileas Fogg.

But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the hand was
finished, said eagerly: “You have a strange way, 20 Ralph, of proving
that the world has grown smaller. So, because you can go round it in
three months—”

“In eighty days,” interrupted Phileas Fogg.

“That is true, gentlemen,” added John Sullivan. “Only eighty days,
now that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the Great
Indian Peninsular Railway, has been opened. Here is the estimate
made by the Daily Telegraph:—

From London to Suez via Mont Cenis and
Brindisi, by rail and steamboats

7

days

From Suez to Bombay, by steamer

13

”

From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail

3

”

From Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer

13

”

From Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by steamer

6

”

From Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer

22

”

From San Francisco to New York, by rail

7

”

From New York to London, by steamer and rail

9

”

Total

80

days.

“Yes, in eighty days!” exclaimed Stuart, who in his excitement made
a false deal. “But that doesn’t take into account bad weather,
contrary winds, shipwrecks, railway accidents, and so on.”

“All included,” returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play despite
the discussion.

“But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails,” replied Stuart;
“suppose they stop the trains, pillage the luggage-vans, and scalp the
passengers!”

Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on:
“You are right, theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically—”

“Practically also, Mr. Stuart.”

“I’d like to see you do it in eighty days.”

“It depends on you. Shall we go?”

“Heaven preserve me! But I would wager four thousand pounds that
such a journey, made under these conditions, is impossible.”

“Quite possible, on the contrary,” returned Mr. Fogg.

“Well, make it, then!”

“The journey round the world in eighty days?”

“Yes.”

“I should like nothing better.”

“When?”

“At once. Only I warn you that I shall do it at your expense.”

“It’s absurd!” cried Stuart, who was beginning to be annoyed at the
persistency of his friend. “Come, let’s go on with the game.”

“Deal over again, then,” said Phileas Fogg. “There’s a false deal.”

Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand; then suddenly put it
down again.

“Well, Mr. Fogg,” said he, “it shall be so: I will wager the four
thousand on it.”

“Calm yourself, my dear Stuart,” said Fallentin. “It’s only a joke.”

“When I say I’ll wager,” returned Stuart, “I mean it.”

“All right,” said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, he continued,
“I have a deposit of twenty thousand at Baring’s which I will willingly
risk upon it.”

“Twenty22 thousand pounds!” cried Sullivan. “Twenty thousand pounds,
which you would lose by a single accidental delay!”

“The unforeseen does not exist,” quietly replied Phileas Fogg.

“But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least
possible time in which the journey can be made.”

“A well-used minimum suffices for everything.”

“But, in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically from
the trains upon the steamers, and from the steamers upon the trains
again.”

“I will jump—mathematically.”

“You are joking.”

“A true Englishman doesn’t joke when he is talking about so serious
a thing as a wager,” replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly. “I will bet
twenty thousand pounds against any one who wishes that I will make the
tour of the world in eighty days or less; in nineteen hundred and
twenty hours, or a hundred and fifteen thousand two hundred minutes.
Do you accept?”

“Good,” said Mr. Fogg. “The train leaves for Dover at a quarter
before nine. I will take it.”

“This very evening?” asked Stuart.

“This very evening,” returned Phileas Fogg. He took out and
consulted a pocket almanac, and added, “As today is Wednesday, the
second of October, I shall be due in London, in this very room of the
Reform Club, on Saturday, the twenty-first of December, at a quarter before
nine p.m.; or else the twenty thousand pounds, now deposited in my
name at Baring’s, will belong to you, in fact and in right,
gentlemen. Here is a check for the amount.”

A23 memorandum of the wager was at once drawn up and signed by the six
parties, during which Phileas Fogg preserved a stoical composure. He
certainly did not bet to win, and had only staked the twenty thousand
pounds, half of his fortune, because he foresaw that he might have to
expend the other half to carry out this difficult, not to say
unattainable, project. As for his antagonists, they seemed much
agitated; not so much by the value of their stake, as because they
had some scruples about betting under conditions so difficult to
their friend.

The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the game so
that Mr. Fogg might make his preparations for departure.

“I am quite ready now,” was his tranquil response. “Diamonds are
trumps: be so good as to play, gentlemen.”

CHAPTER IV

In which Phileas Fogg astounds Passepartout,
his servant

H

AVING won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his friends,
Phileas Fogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the Reform Club.

Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the programme of his
duties, was more than surprised to see his master guilty of the
inexactness of appearing at this unaccustomed hour; for, according to
rule, he was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight.

Mr. Fogg repaired to his bedroom, and called out, “Passepartout!”

Passepartout did not reply. It could not be he who was called; it was
not the right hour.

“Passepartout!” repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice.

Passepartout made his appearance.

“I’ve called you twice,” observed his master.

“But it is not midnight,” responded the other, showing his watch.

“I know it; I don’t blame you. We start for Dover and Calais in ten
minutes.”

A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout’s round face; clearly he had
not comprehended his master.

“But the trunks?” gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his
head from right to left.

“We’ll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts and three
pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you. We’ll buy our clothes
on the way. Bring down my mackintosh and travelling-cloak, and some
stout shoes, though we shall do little walking. Make haste!”

Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out, mounted to
his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered: “That’s good, that is!
And I, who wanted to remain quiet!”

He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure.
Around the world in eighty days! Was his master a fool! Was this
a joke, then? They were going to Dover; good! To Calais; good again!
After all, Passepartout, who had been away from France five years,
would not be sorry to set foot on his native soil again. Perhaps they
would go as far as Paris, and it would do his eyes good to see Paris
once more. But surely a gentleman so chary of his steps would stop
there; no doubt—but, then, it was none the less true that he was
going away, this so domestic person hitherto!

By eight o’clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag,
containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then, still
troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and
descended to Mr. Fogg.

Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been observed a
red-bound copy of Bradshaw’s Continental Railway26Steam Transit and
General Guide, with its time-tables showing the arrival and departure
of steamers and railways. He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and
slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes, which would
pass wherever he might go.

“You have forgotten nothing?” asked he.

“Nothing, monsieur.”

“My mackintosh and cloak?”

“Here they are.”

“Good. Take this carpet-bag,” handing it to Passepartout. “Take good
care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it.”

Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand
pounds were in gold, and weighed him down.

Master and man then descended, the street-door was double-locked,
and at the end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly to
Charing Cross. The cab stopped before the railway station at twenty
minutes past eight. Passepartout jumped off the box and followed his
master, who, after paying the cabman, was about to enter the station,
when a poor beggar-woman, with a child in her arms, her naked feet
smeared with mud, her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which
hung a tattered feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged
shawl, approached, and mournfully asked for alms.

Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist, and
handed them to the beggar, saying, “Here, my good woman. I’m glad
that I met you;” and passed on.

Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his master’s
action touched his susceptible heart.

Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased,
Mr. Fogg was crossing the station to the train, when he perceived his
five friends of the Reform.

“Well, 27 gentlemen,” said he, “I’m off, you see;
and if you will examine my passport when I get back, you will be able
to judge whether I have accomplished the journey agreed upon.”

“Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,” said Ralph
politely. “We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour.”

“You do not forget when you are due in London again?” asked Stuart.

“In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872, at a
quarter before nine p.m. Good-bye, gentlemen.”

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class
carriage at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the
whistle screamed, and the train slowly glided out of the station.

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling. Phileas Fogg,
snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips. Passepartout,
not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung mechanically to the
carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout
suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

CHAPTER V

In which a new species of funds, unknown
to the moneyed men, appears on ’Change

P

HILEAS FOGG rightly suspected that his departure from London would
create a lively sensation at the West End. The news of the bet spread
through the Reform Club, and afforded an exciting topic of
conversation to its members. From the Club it soon got into the
papers throughout England. The boasted “tour of the world” was
talked about, disputed, argued with as much warmth as if the
subject were another Alabama claim. Some took sides with Phileas
Fogg, but the large majority shook their heads and declared against
him; it was absurd, impossible, they declared, that the tour of the
world could be made, except theoretically and on paper, in this
minimum of time, and with the existing means of travelling. The
Times, Standard, Morning Post, and Daily News, and twenty other
highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr. Fogg’s project as madness;
the Daily Telegraph alone hesitatingly supported him. People in
general thought him a lunatic, and blamed his Reform Club friends for
having accepted a wager which betrayed the mental aberration of its
proposer.

Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question,
for geography is one of the pet subjects of the English; and the
columns devoted to Phileas Fogg’s venture were eagerly devoured by
all classes of readers. At first some rash29 individuals, principally
of the gentler sex, espoused his cause, which became still more
popular when the Illustrated London News came out with his portrait,
copied from a photograph in the Reform Club. A few readers of the
Daily Telegraph even dared to say, “Why not, after all? Stranger
things have come to pass.”

At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the
bulletin of the Royal Geographical Society, which treated the
question from every point of view, and demonstrated the utter folly
of the enterprise.

Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle
imposed alike by man and by nature. A miraculous agreement of the
times of departure and arrival, which was impossible, was absolutely
necessary to his success. He might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of
trains at the designated hours, in Europe, where the distances were
relatively moderate; but when he calculated upon crossing India in
three days, and the United States in seven, could he rely beyond
misgiving upon accomplishing his task? There were accidents to
machinery, the liability of trains to run off the line, collisions,
bad weather, the blocking up by snow,—were not all these against
Phileas Fogg? Would he not find himself, when travelling by steamer
in winter, at the mercy of the winds and fogs? Is it uncommon for the
best ocean steamers to be two or three days behind time? But a single
delay would suffice to fatally break the chain of communication; should
Phileas Fogg once miss, even by an hour; a steamer, he would have to
wait for the next, and that would irrevocably render his attempt vain.

This article made a great deal of noise, and being copied into all
the papers, seriously depressed the advocates of the rash tourist.

Everybody knows that England is the world of betting men, who are of
a higher class than mere gamblers; to bet is in30 the English
temperament. Not only the members of the Reform, but the general
public, made heavy wagers for or against Phileas Fogg, who was set
down in the betting books as if he were a race-horse. Bonds were
issued, and made their appearance on ’Change; “Phileas Fogg bonds”
were offered at par or at a premium, and a great business was done
in them. But five days after the article in the bulletin of the
Geographical Society appeared, the demand began to subside: “Phileas
Fogg” declined. They were offered by packages, at first of five, then
of ten, until at last nobody would take less than twenty, fifty, a
hundred!

Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the only
advocate of Phileas Fogg left. This noble lord, who was fastened to
his chair, would have given his fortune to be able to make the tour
of the world, if it took ten years; and he bet five thousand pounds
on Phileas Fogg. When the folly as well as the uselessness of the
adventure was pointed out to him, he contented himself with replying,
“If the thing is feasible, the first to do it ought to be an Englishman.”

The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody was going against
him, and the bets stood a hundred and fifty and two hundred to one;
and a week after his departure, an incident occurred which deprived
him of backers at any price.

The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine o’clock
one evening, when the following telegraphic despatch was put into his
hands:—

The31 effect of this despatch was instantaneous. The polished
gentleman disappeared to give place to the bank robber. His
photograph, which was hung with those of the rest of the members at
the Reform Club, was minutely examined, and it betrayed, feature by
feature, the description of the robber which had been provided to the
police. The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg were recalled; his solitary
ways, his sudden departure; and it seemed clear that, in undertaking
a tour round the world on the pretext of a wager, he had had no other
end in view than to elude the detectives, and throw them off his track.

CHAPTER VI

In which Fix, the detective, betrays
a very natural impatience

T

HE circumstances under which this telegraphic despatch about
Phileas Fogg was sent were as follows:—

The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental
Company, built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden,
and five hundred horse-power, was due at eleven o’clock a.m. on
Wednesday, the 9th of October, at Suez. The Mongolia plied regularly
between Brindisi and Bombay via the Suez Canal, and was one of the
fastest steamers belonging to the company, always making more than
ten knots an hour between Brindisi and Suez, and nine and a half
between Suez and Bombay.

Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd of
natives and strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling
village—now, thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing
town. One was the British consul at Suez, who, despite the prophecies
of the English Government, and the unfavourable predictions of
Stephenson, was in the habit of seeing, from his office window,
English ships daily passing to and fro on the great canal, by which
the old roundabout route from England to India by the Cape of Good
Hope was abridged by at least a half. The other was a small,
slight-built personage, with a nervous, 33 intelligent face, and bright
eyes peering out from under eyebrows which he was incessantly twitching.
He was just now manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience,
nervously pacing up and down, and unable to stand still for a
moment. This was Fix, one of the detectives who had been despatched from
England in search of the bank robber; it was his task to narrowly
watch every passenger who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who
seemed to be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance to the
description of the criminal, which he had received two days before
from the police headquarters at London. The detective was evidently
inspired by the hope of obtaining the splendid reward which would be
the prize of success, and awaited with a feverish impatience, easy to
understand, the arrival of the steamer Mongolia.

“So you say, consul,” asked he for the twentieth time, “that this
steamer is never behind time?”

“No, Mr. Fix,” replied the consul. “She was bespoken yesterday at
Port Said, and the rest of the way is of no account to such a craft.
I repeat that the Mongolia has been in advance of the time required
by the company’s regulations, and gained the prize awarded for excess
of speed.”

“Does she come directly from Brindisi?”

“Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails there, and
she left there Saturday at five p.m. Have patience, Mr. Fix; she will
not be late. But really I don’t see how, from the description you
have, you will be able to recognize your man, even if he is on board
the Mongolia.”

“A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, than
recognizes them. You must have a scent for them, and a scent is like
a sixth sense which combines hearing, seeing, and smelling. I’ve
arrested more than one of these34 gentlemen in my time, and, if my
thief is on board, I’ll answer for it, he’ll not slip through my
fingers.”

“I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery.”

“A magnificent robbery, consul; fifty-five thousand pounds!
We don’t often have such windfalls. Burglars are getting to be so
contemptible nowadays! A fellow gets hung for a handful of shillings!”

“Mr. Fix,” said the consul, “I like your way of talking, and hope
you’ll succeed; but I fear you will find it far from easy. Don’t
you see, the description which you have there has a singular
resemblance to an honest man?”

“Consul,” remarked the detective, dogmatically, “great robbers
always resemble honest folks. Fellows who have rascally faces have
only one course to take, and that is to remain honest; otherwise they
would be arrested off-hand. The artistic thing is, to unmask honest
countenances; it’s no light task, I admit, but a real art.”

Mr. Fix evidently was not wanting in a tinge of self-conceit.

Little by little the scene on the quay became more animated; sailors
of various nations, merchants, ship-brokers, porters, fellahs,
bustled to and fro as if the steamer were immediately expected. The
weather was clear, and slightly chilly. The minarets of the town
loomed above the houses in the pale rays of the sun. A jetty pier,
some two thousand yards long, extended into the roadstead. A number
of fishing-smacks and coasting boats, some retaining the fantastic
fashion of ancient galleys, were discernible on the Red Sea.

As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to habit,
scrutinized the passers-by with a keen, rapid glance.

“Four hours; long enough to get in her coal. It is thirteen hundred
and ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the other end of the Red Sea, and
she has to take in a fresh coal supply.”

“And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?”

“Without putting in anywhere.”

“Good,” said Fix. “If the robber is on board, he will no doubt get
off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French colonies in Asia by
some other route. He ought to know that he would not be safe an hour
in India, which is English soil.”

“Unless,” objected the consul, “he is exceptionally shrewd. An English
criminal, you know, is always better concealed in London than anywhere
else.”

This observation furnished the detective food for thought, and
meanwhile the consul went away to his office. Fix, left alone, was
more impatient than ever, having a presentiment that the robber was
on board the Mongolia. If he had indeed left London intending to
reach the New World, he would naturally take the route via India,
which was less watched and more difficult to watch than that of the
Atlantic. But Fix’s reflections were soon interrupted by a succession
of sharp whistles, which announced the arrival of the Mongolia. The
porters and fellahs rushed down the quay, and a dozen boats pushed
off from the shore to go and meet the steamer. Soon her gigantic hull
appeared passing along between the banks, and eleven o’clock struck
as she anchored in the road. She brought an unusual number of
passengers, some of whom remained on deck to scan the picturesque
panorama of the town, while the greater part disembarked in the
boats, and landed on the quay.

Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each face and figure
which made its appearance. Presently one of the passengers, after
vigorously pushing his way through the importunate36 crowd of porters,
came up to him, and politely asked if he could point out the English
consulate, at the same time showing a passport which he wished to
have visaed. Fix instinctively took the passport, and with a rapid
glance read the description of its bearer. An involuntary motion of
surprise nearly escaped him, for the description in the passport was
identical with that of the bank robber which he had received from
Scotland Yard.

“Is this your passport?” asked he.

“No, it’s my master’s.”

“And your master is—”

“He stayed on board.”

“But he must go to the consul’s in person, so as to establish his
identity.”

“Oh, is that necessary?”

“Quite indispensable.”

“And where is the consulate?”

“There, on the corner of the square,” said Fix, pointing to a house
two hundred steps off.

“I’ll go and fetch my master, who won’t be much pleased, however, to
be disturbed.”

CHAPTER VII

Which once more demonstrates the uselessness
of passports as aids to detectives

T

HE detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way to the
consul’s office, where he was at once admitted to the presence of
that official.

“Consul,” said he, without preamble, “I have strong reasons for
believing that my man is a passenger on the Mongolia.” And he
narrated what had just passed concerning the passport.

“Well, Mr. Fix,” replied the consul, “I shall not be sorry to see
the rascal’s face; but perhaps he won’t come here,—that is, if he is
the person you suppose him to be. A robber doesn’t quite like to
leave traces of his flight behind him; and besides, he is not
obliged to have his passport countersigned.”

“If he is as shrewd as I think he is, consul, he will come.”

“To have his passport visaed?”

“Yes. Passports are only good for annoying honest folks, and aiding
in the flight of rogues. I assure you it will be quite the thing for
him to do; but I hope you will not visa the passport.”

“Why not? If the passport is genuine, I have no right to refuse.”

“Still38 I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to
arrest him from London.”

“Ah, that’s your look-out. But I cannot—”

The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock was
heard at the door, and two strangers entered, one of whom was the
servant whom Fix had met on the quay. The other, who was his master,
held out his passport with the request that the consul would do him
the favour to visa it. The consul took the document and carefully
read it, whilst Fix observed, or rather devoured, the stranger with
his eyes from a corner of the room.

“You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?” said the consul, after reading the
passport.

“I am.”

“And this man is your servant?”

“He is; a Frenchman, named Passepartout.”

“You are from London?”

“Yes.”

“And you are going—”

“To Bombay.”

“Very good, sir. You know that a visa is useless, and that no
passport is required?”

“I know it, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg; “but I wish to prove, by
your visa, that I came by Suez.”

“Very well, sir.”

The consul proceeded to sign and date the passport, after which he
added his official seal. Mr. Fogg paid the customary fee, coldly
bowed, and went out, followed by his servant.

“Well?” queried the detective.

“Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man,” replied the
consul.

“Possibly; 39 but that is not the question. Do you think, consul, that
this phlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature, the robber
whose description I have received?”

“I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions—”

“I’ll make certain of it,” interrupted Fix. “The servant seems to me
less mysterious than the master; besides, he’s a Frenchman, and can’t
help talking. Excuse me for a little while, consul.”

Fix started off in search of Passepartout.

Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to the
quay, gave some orders to Passepartout, went off to the Mongolia in a
boat, and descended to his cabin. He took up his note-book, which contained the
following memoranda:—

“Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m.

“Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m.

“Left Paris, Thursday, at 8.40 a.m.

“Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6.35 a.m.

“Left Turin, Friday, at 7.20 a.m.

“Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5th, at 4 p.m.

“Sailed on the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5 p.m.

“Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 a.m.

“Total of hours spent, 158½; or, in days, six days and a half.”

These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns,
indicating the month, the day of the month, and the day for the
stipulated and actual arrivals at each principal point,—Paris,
Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, San
Francisco, New York, and London,—from the 2nd of October to the 21st
of December; and giving a space for setting down the gain made or the
loss suffered on arrival of each locality. This methodical record thus
contained an account of everything needed, and Mr. Fogg40 always knew
whether he was behindhand or in advance of his time. On this Friday,
October 9th, he noted his arrival at Suez, and observed that he had
as yet neither gained nor lost. He sat down quietly to breakfast in
his cabin, never once thinking of inspecting the town, being one of
those Englishmen who are wont to see foreign countries through the
eyes of their domestics.

“Yes; but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a dream.
So this is Suez?”

“Yes.”

“In Egypt?”

“Certainly, in Egypt.”

“And in Africa?”

“In Africa.”

“In Africa!” repeated Passepartout. “Just think, monsieur, I had no
idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I saw of
Paris was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty minutes before
nine in the morning, between the Northern and the Lyons stations,
through the windows of a car, and in a driving rain! How I regret not
having seen once more Père la Chaise and the circus in the Champs
Elysées!”

“You are in a great hurry, then?”

“I42 am not, but my master is. By the way, I must buy some shoes and
shirts. We came away without trunks, only with a carpet-bag.”

“I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you want.”

“Really, monsieur, you are very kind.”

And they walked off together, Passepartout chatting volubly as they
went along.

“Above all,” said he; “don’t let me lose the steamer.”

“You have plenty of time; it’s only twelve o’clock.”

Passepartout pulled out his big watch. “Twelve!” he exclaimed; “why
it’s only eight minutes before ten.”

“Your watch is slow.”

“My watch? A family watch, monsieur, which has come down from my
great-grandfather! It doesn’t vary five minutes in the year, it’s
a perfect chronometer, look you.”

“I see how it is,” said Fix. “You have kept London time, which is
two hours behind that of Suez. You ought to regulate your watch at
noon in each country.”

“I regulate my watch? Never!”

“Well, then, it will not agree with the sun.”

“So much the worse for the sun, monsieur. The sun will be wrong,
then!”

And the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a defiant
gesture. After a few minutes silence, Fix resumed: “You left London
hastily, then?”

“I rather think so! Last Friday at eight o’clock in the evening,
Monsieur Fogg came home from his club, and three quarters of an hour
afterwards we were off.”

“But where is your master going?”

“Always straight ahead. He is going round the world.”

“Round the world?” cried Fix.

“Yes, 43 and in eighty days! He says it is on a wager; but, between us,
I don’t believe a word of it. That wouldn’t be common sense. There’s
something else in the wind.”

“Ah! Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?”

“I should say he was.”

“Is he rich?”

“No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand-new bank-notes
with him. And he doesn’t spare the money on the way, either: he has
offered a large reward to the engineer of the Mongolia if he gets us
to Bombay well in advance of time.”

“And you have known your master a long time?”

“Why, no; I entered his service the very day we left London.”

The effect of these replies upon the already suspicious and excited
detective may be imagined. The hasty departure from London soon after
the robbery; the large sum carried by Mr. Fogg; his eagerness to
reach distant countries; the pretext of an eccentric and foolhardy
bet,—all confirmed Fix in his theory. He continued to pump poor
Passepartout, and learned that he really knew little or nothing of
his master, who lived a solitary existence in London, was said to be
rich, though no one knew whence came his riches, and was mysterious
and impenetrable in his affairs and habits. Fix felt sure that Phileas
Fogg would not land at Suez, but was really going on to Bombay.

“Is Bombay far from here?” asked Passepartout.

“Pretty far. It is a ten days’ voyage by sea.”

“And in what country is Bombay?”

“India.”

“In Asia?”

“Certainly.”

“The deuce! I was going to tell you,—there’s one thing that worries
me,—my burner!”

“My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at this
moment burning—at my expense. I have calculated, monsieur, that I
lose two shillings every four and twenty hours, exactly sixpence more
than I earn; and you will understand that the longer our journey—”

Did Fix pay any attention to Passepartout’s trouble about the gas?
It is not probable. He was not listening, but was cogitating a
project. Passepartout and he had now reached the shop, where Fix left
his companion to make his purchases, after recommending him not to miss
the steamer, and hurried back to the consulate. Now that he was fully
convinced, Fix had quite recovered his equanimity.

“Consul,” said he, “I have no longer any doubt. I have spotted my
man. He passes himself off as an odd stick, who is going round the
world in eighty days.”

“Then he’s a sharp fellow,” returned the consul, “and counts on
returning to London after putting the police of the two continents off
his track.”

“We’ll see about that,” replied Fix.

“But are you not mistaken?”

“I am not mistaken.”

“Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the visa, that he had
passed through Suez?”

“Why? I have no idea; but listen to me.”

He reported in a few words the most important parts of his
conversation with Passepartout.

“In short,” said the consul, “appearances are wholly against this
man. And what are you going to do?”

“Send a despatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be despatched
instantly to Bombay, take passage on board the Mongolia, follow my
rogue to India, and there, on English ground, arrest him politely,
with my warrant in my hand, and my hand on his shoulder.”

Having45 uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the detective
took leave of the consul, and repaired to the telegraph office,
whence he sent the despatch which we have seen to the London police
office. A quarter of an hour later found Fix, with a small bag in
his hand, proceeding on board the Mongolia; and ere many moments
longer, the notable steamer rode out at full steam upon the waters of
the Red Sea.

CHAPTER IX

In which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean
prove propitious to the designs of Phileas Fogg

T

HE distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred and
ten miles, and the regulations of the company allow the steamers one
hundred and thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it. The Mongolia,
thanks to the vigorous exertions of the engineer, seemed likely, so
rapid was her speed, to reach her destination considerably within that
time. The greater part of the passengers from Brindisi were bound for
India—some for Bombay, others for Calcutta by way of Bombay, the
nearest route thither, now that a railway crosses the Indian peninsula.
Among the passengers was a number of officials and military officers of
various grades, the latter being either attached to the regular British
forces, or commanding the Sepoy troops and receiving high salaries ever
since the central government has assumed the powers of the East India
Company; for the sub-lieutenants get £280, brigadiers, £2400,
and generals of division, £4000. What with the military men, a
number of rich young Englishmen on their travels, and the hospitable
efforts of the purser, the time passed quickly on the Mongolia. The
best of fare was spread upon the cabin tables at breakfast, lunch,
dinner, and the eight o’clock supper, and the ladies scrupulously
changed their toilets twice a day; and the47 hours were whiled away,
when the sea was tranquil, with music, dancing, and games.

But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like most
long and narrow gulfs. When the wind came from the African or Asian
coast, the Mongolia, with her long hull, rolled fearfully. Then the
ladies speedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing
and dancing suddenly ceased. Yet the good ship ploughed straight on,
unretarded by wind or wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb.
What was Phileas Fogg doing all this time? It might be thought that,
in his anxiety, he would be constantly watching the changes of the
wind, the disorderly raging of the billows—every chance, in short,
which might force the Mongolia to slacken her speed, and thus
interrupt his journey. But if he thought of these possibilities, he
did not betray the fact by any outward sign.

Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no
incident could surprise, as unvarying as the ship’s chronometers, and
seldom having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed
through the memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold indifference;
did not care to recognize the historic towns and villages which,
along its borders, raised their picturesque outlines against the sky;
and betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old
historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient
navigators never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample
sacrifices. How did this eccentric personage pass his time on the
Mongolia? He made his four hearty meals every day, regardless of the
most persistent rolling and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he
played whist indefatigably, for he had found partners as enthusiastic
in the game as himself. A tax-collector, on the way to his post at
Goa; the Rev. Decimus Smith, returning to his parish at Bombay; and
a brigadier-general of the English army, who was48 about to rejoin his
brigade at Benares, made up the party, and, with Mr. Fogg, played whist
by the hour together in absorbing silence.

As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his
meals conscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather enjoyed the
voyage, for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great interest in
the scenes through which they were passing, and consoled himself with
the delusion that his master’s whim would end at Bombay. He was
pleased, on the day after leaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging
person with whom he had walked and chatted on the quays.

“If I am not mistaken,” said he, approaching this person with his
most amiable smile, “you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered
to guide me at Suez?”

“Ah! I quite recognize you. You are the servant of the strange
Englishman—”

“Just so, Monsieur—”

“Fix.”

“Monsieur Fix,” resumed Passepartout, “I’m charmed to find you on
board. Where are you bound?”

“Like you, to Bombay.”

“That’s capital! Have you made this trip before?”

“Several times. I am one of the agents of the Peninsular Company.”

“Then you know India?”

“Why—yes,” replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.

“A curious place, this India?”

“Oh, very curious. Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas,
tigers, snakes, elephants! I hope you will have ample time to see the
sights.”

“I hope so, Monsieur Fix. You see, a man of sound sense ought not to
spend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway train, and from
a railway train upon a steamer again, pretending to make the tour of
the world in eighty days! 49 No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure,
will cease at Bombay.”

“And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?” asked Fix, in the most natural
tone in the world.

“Quite well, and I too. I eat like a famished ogre; it’s the sea air.”

“But I never see your master on deck.”

“Never; he hasn’t the least curiosity.”

“Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in eighty
days may conceal some secret errand—perhaps a diplomatic mission?”

“Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it, nor
would I give half-a-crown to find out.”

After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit of
chatting together, the latter making it a point to gain the worthy
man’s confidence. He frequently offered him a glass of whiskey or
pale ale in the steamer bar-room, which Passepartout never failed to
accept with graceful alacrity, mentally pronouncing Fix the best of
good fellows.

Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly; on the 13th, Mocha,
surrounded by its ruined walls whereon date-trees were growing, was
sighted, and on the mountains beyond were espied vast coffee-fields.
Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and
thought that, with its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked
like an immense coffee cup and saucer. The following night they
passed through the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic
“The Bridge of Tears,” and the next day they put in at
Steamer Point, north-west of Aden harbour, to take in coal. This matter
of fuelling steamers is a serious one at such distances from the
coal mines; it costs the Peninsular Company some eight hundred thousand
pounds a year. In these distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds
sterling a ton.

The50Mongolia had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to traverse
before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain four hours at
Steamer Point to coal up. But this delay, as it was foreseen, did not
affect Phileas Fogg’s programme; besides, the Mongolia, instead of
reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due, arrived
there on the evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours.

Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport
again visaed; Fix, unobserved, followed them. The visa procured, Mr.
Fogg returned on board to resume his former habits; while
Passepartout, according to custom, sauntered about among the mixed
population of Somalis, Banyans, Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans
who comprise the twenty-five thousand inhabitants of Aden. He gazed
with wonder upon the fortifications which make this place the
Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean, and the vast cisterns where the
English engineers were still at work, two thousand years after the
engineers of Solomon.

“Very curious, very curious,” said Passepartout to himself, on
returning to the steamer. “I see that it is by no means useless to
travel, if a man wants to see something new.” At six p.m. the
Mongolia slowly moved out of the roadstead, and was soon once
more on the Indian Ocean. She had a hundred and sixty-eight hours in
which to reach Bombay, and the sea was favourable, the wind being in
the north-west, and all sails aiding the engine. The steamer rolled
but little, the ladies, in fresh toilets, reappeared on deck, and the
singing and dancing were resumed. The trip was being accomplished
most successfully, and Passepartout was enchanted with the congenial
companion which chance had secured him in the person of the
delightful Fix. On Sunday, October 20th, towards noon, they came in
sight of the Indian coast: two hours later the pilot came on board. A
range of hills lay against the sky in the horizon, and soon the rows51
of palms which adorn Bombay came distinctly into view. The steamer
entered the road formed by the islands in the bay, and at half-past
four she hauled up at the quays of Bombay.

Phileas Fogg was in the act of finishing the thirty-third rubber of
the voyage, and his partner and himself having, by a bold stroke,
captured all thirteen of the tricks, concluded this fine campaign
with a brilliant victory.

The Mongolia was due at Bombay on the 22nd; she arrived on the 20th.
This was a gain to Phileas Fogg of two days since his departure from
London, and he calmly entered the fact in the itinerary, in the
column of gains.

CHAPTER X

In which Passepartout is only too glad
to get off with the loss of his shoes

E

VERYBODY knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its
base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called India,
embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread
unequally a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls.
The British Crown exercises a real and despotic dominion over the
larger portion of this vast country, and has a governor-general
stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and in Bengal,
and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.

But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred
thousand square miles, and a population of from one hundred to one
hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. A considerable portion of
India is still free from British authority; and there are certain
ferocious rajahs in the interior who are absolutely independent. The
celebrated East India Company was all-powerful from 1756, when the
English first gained a foothold on the spot where now stands the city
of Madras, down to the time of the great Sepoy insurrection. It
gradually annexed province after province, purchasing them of the
native chiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general
and his subordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company
has now passed53 away, leaving the British possessions in India directly
under the control of the Crown. The aspect of the country, as well as
the manners and distinctions of race, is daily changing.

Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous
methods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldy
coaches; now, fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a
great railway, with branch lines joining the main line at many points
on its route, traverses the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in
three days. This railway does not run in a direct line across India.
The distance between Bombay and Calcutta, as the bird flies, is only
from one thousand to eleven hundred miles; but the deflections of the
road increase this distance by more than a third.

The general route of the Great Indian Peninsular Railway is as
follows:—Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the
continent opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts,
runs thence north-east as far as Burhampoor, skirts the nearly
independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad, turns
thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs from
the river a little, and, descending south-eastward by Burdivan and
the French town of Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta.

The passengers of the Mongolia went ashore at half-past four p.m.;
at exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.

Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the
steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to
be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his regular step,
which beat to the second, like an astronomical clock, directed his
steps to the passport office. As for the wonders of Bombay—its famous
city hall, its splendid54 library, its forts and docks, its bazaars,
mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on
Malabar Hill with its two polygonal towers—he cared not a straw to
see them. He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of
Elephanta, or the mysterious hypogea, concealed south-east from the
docks, or those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian
grottoes of the island of Salcette.

Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg
repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner.
Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially
recommended a certain giblet of “native rabbit,” on which he prided
himself.

Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced sauce,
found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord, and on his
appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, “Is this rabbit,
sir?”

“Yes, my lord,” the rogue boldly replied, “rabbit from the jungles.”

“And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?”

“Mew, my lord! what, a rabbit mew! I swear to you—”

“Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this: cats were
formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a good time.”

“For the cats, my lord?”

“Perhaps for the travellers as well!”

After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner. Fix had gone on
shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was the
headquarters of the Bombay police. He made himself known as a London
detective, told his business at Bombay, and the position of affairs
relative to the supposed robber, and nervously asked if a warrant had
arrived from London. It had not reached the office; indeed, there had
not yet been time for it to arrive. Fix was sorely disappointed, 55 and
tried to obtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay
police. This the director refused, as the matter concerned the London
office, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix did not
insist, and was fain to resign himself to await the arrival of the
important document; but he was determined not to lose sight of the
mysterious rogue as long as he stayed in Bombay. He did not doubt for
a moment, any more than Passepartout, that Phileas Fogg would remain
there, at least until it was time for the warrant to arrive.

Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master’s orders on
leaving the Mongolia, than he saw at once that they were to leave
Bombay as they had done Suez and Paris, and that the journey would be
extended at least as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond that place.
He began to ask himself if this bet that Mr. Fogg talked about was
not really in good earnest, and whether his fate was not in truth
forcing him, despite his love of repose, around the world in eighty
days!

Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took a
leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people of many
nationalities—Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyans with
round turbans, Sindis with square bonnets, Parsees with black mitres,
and long-robed Armenians—were collected. It happened to be the day
of a Parsee festival. These descendants of the sect of Zoroaster—the
most thrifty, civilized, intelligent, and austere of the East Indians,
among whom are counted the richest native merchants of Bombay—were
celebrating a sort of religious carnival, with processions and shows,
in the midst of which Indian dancing-girls, clothed in rose-coloured
gauze, looped up with gold and silver, danced airily, but with perfect
modesty, to the sound of viols and the clanging of tambourines. It is
needless to say that Passepartout watched these56 curious ceremonies with
staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his countenance was that of the
greenest booby imaginable.

Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew him
unconsciously farther off than he intended to go. At last, having seen
the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he was turning his steps
towards the station, when he happened to espy the splendid pagoda on
Malabar Hill, and was seized with an irresistible desire to see its
interior. He was quite ignorant that it is forbidden to Christians to
enter certain Indian temples, and that even the faithful must not go in
without first leaving their shoes outside the door. It may be said here
that the wise policy of the British Government severely punishes a
disregard of the practices of the native religions.

Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple
tourist, and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin
ornamentation which everywhere met his eyes, when of a sudden he
found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He looked up to
behold three enraged priests, who forthwith fell upon him, tore off
his shoes, and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations. The
agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time in
knocking down two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fists and a
vigorous application of his toes; then, rushing out of the pagoda as
fast as his legs could carry him, he soon escaped the third priest by
mingling with the crowd in the streets.

At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless, and
having in the squabble lost his package of shirts and shoes, rushed
breathlessly into the station.

Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he was
really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform. He had
resolved to follow the supposed robber to57 Calcutta, and farther, if
necessary. Passepartout did not observe the detective, who stood in
an obscure corner; but Fix heard him relate his adventures in a few
words to Mr. Fogg.

“I hope that this will not happen again,” said Phileas Fogg, coldly,
as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout, quite crestfallen,
followed his master without a word. Fix was on the point of entering
another carriage, when an idea struck him which induced him to alter
his plan.

CHAPTER XI

In which Phileas Fogg secures a curious means
of conveyance at a fabulous price

T

HE train had started punctually. Among the passengers were a number
of officers, Government officials, and opium and indigo merchants,
whose business called them to the eastern coast. Passepartout rode
in the same carriage with his master, and a third passenger occupied
a seat opposite to them. This was Sir Francis Cromarty, one of Mr.
Fogg’s whist partners on the Mongolia, now on his way to join his
corps at Benares. Sir Francis was a tall, fair man of fifty, who had
greatly distinguished himself in the last Sepoy revolt. He made India
his home, only paying brief visits to England at rare intervals; and
was almost as familiar as a native with the customs, history, and
character of India and its people. But Phileas Fogg, who was not
travelling, but only describing a circumference, took no pains to
inquire into these subjects; he was a solid body, traversing an orbit
around the terrestrial globe, according to the laws of rational
mechanics. He was at this moment calculating in his mind the number
of hours spent since his departure from London, and, had it been in
his nature to make a useless demonstration, would have rubbed his
hands for satisfaction. Sir Francis Cromarty had observed the oddity
of his travelling companion—although the only opportunity he had for
studying him had been while he was dealing the cards, and59 between two
rubbers—and questioned himself whether a human heart really beat
beneath this cold exterior, and whether Phileas Fogg had any sense of
the beauties of nature. The brigadier-general was free to mentally
confess, that, of all the eccentric persons he had ever met, none was
comparable to this product of the exact sciences.

Phileas Fogg had not concealed from Sir Francis his design of going
round the world, nor the circumstances under which he set out; and
the general only saw in the wager a useless eccentricity, and a lack
of sound common-sense. In the way this strange gentleman was going
on, he would leave the world without having done any good to himself
or anybody else.

An hour after leaving Bombay the train had passed the viaducts and
the island of Salcette, and had got into the open country. At
Callyan they reached the junction of the branch line which
descends towards south-eastern India by Kandallah and Pounah; and,
passing Pauwell, they entered the defiles of the mountains, with
their basalt bases, and their summits crowned with thick and verdant
forests. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty exchanged a few words
from time to time, and now Sir Francis, reviving the conversation,
observed, “Some years ago, Mr. Fogg, you would have met with a delay
at this point, which would probably have lost you your wager.”

“How so, Sir Francis?”

“Because the railway stopped at the base of these mountains, which
the passengers were obliged to cross in palanquins or on ponies to
Kandallah, on the other side.”

“Such a delay would not have deranged my plans in the least,” said
Mr. Fogg. “I have constantly foreseen the likelihood of certain
obstacles.”

“But, Mr. Fogg,” pursued Sir Francis, “you run the risk of having
some difficulty about this worthy fellow’s adventure60 at the pagoda.”
Passepartout, his feet comfortably wrapped in his travelling-blanket,
was sound asleep, and did not dream that anybody was talking about
him. “The Government is very severe upon that kind of offence. It
takes particular care that the religious customs of the Indians
should be respected, and if your servant were caught—”

“Very well, Sir Francis,” replied Mr. Fogg; “if he had been caught
he would have been condemned and punished, and then would have
quietly returned to Europe. I don’t see how this affair could have
delayed his master.”

The conversation fell again. During the night the train left the
mountains behind, and passed Nassik, and the next day proceeded over
the flat, well-cultivated country of the Khandeish, with its
straggling villages, above which rose the minarets of the pagodas.
This fertile territory is watered by numerous small rivers and limpid
streams, mostly tributaries of the Godavery.

Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realize that he
was actually crossing India in a railway train. The locomotive, guided
by an English engineer and fed with English coal, threw out its smoke
upon cotton, coffee, nutmeg, clove, and pepper plantations, while the
steam curled in spirals around groups of palm-trees, in the midst of
which were seen picturesque bungalows, viharis (a sort of abandoned
monasteries), and marvellous temples enriched by the exhaustless
ornamentation of Indian architecture. Then they came upon vast tracts
extending to the horizon, with jungles inhabited by snakes and tigers,
which fled at the noise of the train; succeeded by forests penetrated
by the railway, and still haunted by elephants which, with pensive
eyes, gazed at the train as it passed. The travellers crossed, beyond
Malligaum, the fatal country so often stained with blood by the
sectaries of the goddess Kali. Not far off rose Ellora, with its
graceful pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad, 61 capital of the ferocious
Aureng-Zeb, now the chief town of one of the detached provinces of the
kingdom of the Nizam. It was thereabouts that Feringhea, the Thuggee
chief, king of the stranglers, held his sway. These ruffians, united
by a secret bond, strangled victims of every age in honour of the
goddess Death, without ever shedding blood; there was a period when
this part of the country could scarcely be travelled over without
corpses being found in every direction. The English Government has
succeeded in greatly diminishing these murders, though the Thuggees
still exist, and pursue the exercise of their horrible rites.

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Burhampoor, where
Passepartout was able to purchase some Indian slippers, ornamented
with false pearls, in which, with evident vanity, he proceeded to
incase his feet. The travellers made a hasty breakfast, and started
off for Assurghur, after skirting for a little the banks of the small
river Tapty, which empties into the Gulf of Cambray, near Surat.

Passepartout was now plunged into absorbing reverie. Up to his
arrival at Bombay, he had entertained hopes that their journey would
end there; but now that they were plainly whirling across India at
full speed, a sudden change had come over the spirit of his dreams.
His old vagabond nature returned to him; the fantastic ideas of his
youth once more took possession of him. He came to regard his
master’s project as intended in good earnest, believed in the reality
of the bet, and therefore in the tour of the world, and the necessity
of making it without fail within the designated period. Already he
began to worry about possible delays, and accidents which might
happen on the way. He recognized himself as being personally interested
in the wager, and trembled at the thought that he might have been the
means of losing it by his unpardonable folly of the night before. Being
much less cool-headed than Mr. Fogg, he was much more restless, 62 counting
and recounting the days passed over, uttering maledictions when the
train stopped, and accusing it of sluggishness, and mentally blaming
Mr. Fogg for not having bribed the engineer. The worthy fellow was
ignorant that, while it was possible by such means to hasten the rate
of a steamer, it could not be done on the railway.

The train entered the defiles of the Sutpour Mountains, which
separate the Khandeish from Bundelcund, towards evening. The next day
Sir Francis Cromarty asked Passepartout what time it was; to which,
on consulting his watch, he replied that it was three in the morning.
This famous timepiece, always regulated on the Greenwich meridian,
which was now some seventy-seven degrees westward, was at least five 1
hours slow. Sir Francis corrected Passepartout’s time, whereupon the
latter made the same remark that he had done to Fix; and upon the
general insisting that the watch should be regulated in each new
meridian, since he was constantly going eastward, that is in the face
of the sun, and therefore the days were shorter by four minutes for
each degree gone over, Passepartout obstinately refused to alter his
watch, which he kept at London time. It was an innocent delusion
which could harm no one.

The train stopped, at eight o’clock, in the midst of a glade some
fifteen miles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows and
workmen’s cabins. The conductor, passing along the carriages,
shouted, “Passengers will get out here!”

Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation; but
the general could not tell what meant a halt in the midst of this
forest of dates and acacias.

Passepartout, 63 not less surprised, rushed out and speedily returned,
crying: “Monsieur, no more railway!”

“What do you mean?” asked Sir Francis.

“I mean to say that the train isn’t going on.”

The general at once stepped out, while Phileas Fogg calmly followed
him, and they proceeded together to the conductor.

“Where are we?” asked Sir Francis.

“At the hamlet of Kholby.”

“Do we stop here?”

“Certainly. The railway isn’t finished.”

“What! Not finished?”

“No. There’s still a matter of fifty miles to be laid from here to
Allahabad, where the line begins again.”

“But the papers announced the opening of the railway throughout.”

“What would you have, officer? The papers were mistaken.”

“Yet you sell tickets from Bombay to Calcutta,” retorted Sir Francis,
who was growing warm.

“No doubt,” replied the conductor; “but the passengers know that
they must provide means of transportation for themselves from Kholby
to Allahabad.”

Sir Francis was furious. Passepartout would willingly have knocked
the conductor down, and did not dare to look at his master.

“Sir Francis,” said Mr. Fogg, quietly, “we will, if you please, look
about for some means of conveyance to Allahabad.”

“Mr. Fogg, this is a delay greatly to your disadvantage.”

“No, Sir Francis; it was foreseen.”

“What! You knew that the way—”

“Not at all; but I knew that some obstacle or other would sooner or
later arise on my route. Nothing, therefore, is64 lost. I have two
days which I have already gained to sacrifice. A steamer leaves
Calcutta for Hong Kong at noon, on the 25th. This is the 22nd, and we
shall reach Calcutta in time.”

There was nothing to say to so confident a response.

It was but too true that the railway came to a termination at this
point. The papers were like some watches, which have a way of getting
too fast, and had been premature in their announcement of the completion
of the line. The greater part of the travellers were aware of this
interruption, and leaving the train, they began to engage such
vehicles as the village could provide—four-wheeled palkigharis,
waggons drawn by zebus, carriages that looked like perambulating
pagodas, palanquins, ponies, and what not.

Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, after searching the village from
end to end, came back without having found anything.

“I shall go afoot,” said Phileas Fogg.

Passepartout, who had now rejoined his master, made a wry grimace,
as he thought of his magnificent, but too frail Indian shoes.
Happily he too had been looking about him, and, after a moment’s
hesitation, said, “Monsieur, I think I have found a means of
conveyance.”

“What?”

“An elephant! An elephant that belongs to an Indian who lives but a
hundred steps from here.”

“Let’s go and see the elephant,” replied Mr. Fogg.

They soon reached a small hut, near which, enclosed within some high
palings, was the animal in question. An Indian came out of the hut,
and, at their request, conducted them within the enclosure. The
elephant, which its owner had reared, not for a beast of burden, but
for warlike purposes, was half domesticated. The Indian had begun
already, 65 by often irritating him, and feeding him every three months
on sugar and butter, to impart to him a ferocity not in his nature,
this method being often employed by those who train the Indian
elephants for battle. Happily, however, for Mr. Fogg, the animal’s
instruction in this direction had not gone far, and the elephant still
preserved his natural gentleness. Kiouni—this was the name of the
beast—could doubtless travel rapidly for a long time, and, in default
of any other means of conveyance, Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him. But
elephants are far from cheap in India, where they are becoming scarce;
the males, which alone are suitable for circus shows, are much sought,
especially as but few of them are domesticated. When, therefore, Mr.
Fogg proposed to the Indian to hire Kiouni, he refused point-blank.
Mr. Fogg persisted, offering the excessive sum of ten pounds an hour
for the loan of the beast to Allahabad. Refused. Twenty pounds?
Refused also. Forty pounds? Still refused. Passepartout jumped at
each advance; but the Indian declined to be tempted. Yet the offer
was an alluring one, for, supposing it took the elephant fifteen hours
to reach Allahabad, his owner would receive no less than six hundred
pounds sterling.

Phileas Fogg, without getting in the least flurried, then proposed
to purchase the animal outright, and at first offered a thousand
pounds for him. The Indian, perhaps thinking he was going to make a
great bargain, still refused.

Sir Francis Cromarty took Mr. Fogg aside, and begged him to reflect
before he went any further; to which that gentleman replied that he
was not in the habit of acting rashly, that a bet of twenty thousand
pounds was at stake, that the elephant was absolutely necessary to
him, and that he would secure him if he had to pay twenty times his
value. Returning to the Indian, whose small, sharp eyes, glistening
with avarice, betrayed that with him it was only a question of how66
great a price he could obtain, Mr. Fogg offered first twelve hundred,
then fifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, two thousand pounds. Passepartout,
usually so rubicund, was fairly white with suspense.

At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.

“What a price, good heaven!” cried Passepartout, “for an elephant!”

It only remained now to find a guide, which was comparatively easy.
A young Parsee, with an intelligent face, offered his services,
which Mr. Fogg accepted, promising so generous a reward as to
materially stimulate his zeal. The elephant was led out and equipped.
The Parsee, who was an accomplished elephant driver, covered his back
with a sort of saddle-cloth, and attached to each of his flanks some
curiously uncomfortable howdahs.

Phileas Fogg paid the Indian with some bank-notes which he extracted
from the famous carpet-bag, a proceeding that seemed to deprive poor
Passepartout of his vitals. Then he offered to carry Sir Francis to
Allahabad, which the brigadier gratefully accepted, as one traveller
the more would not be likely to fatigue the gigantic beast. Provisions
were purchased at Kholby, and while Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg took the
howdahs on either side, Passepartout got astride the saddle-cloth between
them. The Parsee perched himself on the elephant’s neck, and at nine
o’clock they set out from the village, the animal marching off
through the dense forest of palms by the shortest cut.

CHAPTER XII

In which Phileas Fogg and his companions venture
across the Indian forests, and what ensued

I

N order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of the
line where the railway was still in process of being built. This
line, owing to the capricious turnings of the Vindhia mountains, did
not pursue a straight course. The Parsee, who was quite familiar with
the roads and paths in the district, declared that they would gain
twenty miles by striking directly through the forest.

Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck in the
peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled by the
swift trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was by the skilful
Parsee; but they endured the discomfort with true British phlegm,
talking little, and scarcely able to catch a glimpse of each other.
As for Passepartout, who was mounted on the beast’s back, and
received the direct force of each concussion as he trod along, he was
very careful, in accordance with his master’s advice, to keep his
tongue from between his teeth, as it would otherwise have been bitten
off short. The worthy fellow bounced from the elephant’s neck to his
rump, and vaulted like a clown on a spring-board; yet he laughed in
the midst of his bouncing, and from time to time took a piece of
sugar out of his pocket, and inserted it in Kiouni’s trunk, who
received it without in the least slackening his regular trot.

After68 two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him an hour
for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst at a
neighbouring spring, set to devouring the branches and shrubs round
about him. Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg regretted the delay, and
both descended with a feeling of relief. “Why, he’s made of iron!”
exclaimed the general, gazing admiringly on Kiouni.

“Of forged iron,” replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing a
hasty breakfast.

At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure. The country soon
presented a very savage aspect. Copses of dates and dwarf-palms
succeeded the dense forests; then vast, dry plains, dotted with
scanty shrubs, and sown with great blocks of syenite. All this
portion of Bundelcund, which is little frequented by travellers,
is inhabited by a fanatical population, hardened in the most
horrible practices of the Hindoo faith. The English have not been
able to secure complete dominion over this territory, which is
subjected to the influence of rajahs, whom it is almost impossible
to reach in their inaccessible mountain fastnesses. The travellers
several times saw bands of ferocious Indians, who, when they perceived
the elephant striding across country, made angry and threatening
motions. The Parsee avoided them as much as possible. Few animals were
observed on the route; even the monkeys hurried from their path with
contortions and grimaces which convulsed Passepartout with laughter.

In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the worthy
servant. What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he got to
Allahabad? Would he carry him on with him? Impossible! The cost of
transporting him would make him ruinously expensive. Would he sell
him, or set him free? The estimable beast certainly deserved some
consideration. Should Mr. Fogg choose to make him, Passepartout, a
present of Kiouni, he would be very much embarrassed; 69 and these
thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long time.

The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the
evening, and another halt was made on the northern slope, in a ruined
bungalow. They had gone nearly twenty-five miles that day, and an equal
distance still separated them from the station of Allahabad.

The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a few
dry branches, and the warmth was very grateful. The provisions purchased
at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the travellers ate ravenously. The
conversation, beginning with a few disconnected phrases, soon gave
place to loud and steady snores. The guide watched Kiouni, who slept
standing, bolstering himself against the trunk of a large tree. Nothing
occurred during the night to disturb the slumberers, although occasional
growls from panthers and chatterings of monkeys broke the silence; the
more formidable beasts made no cries or hostile demonstration against
the occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis slept heavily, like an honest
soldier overcome with fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped in uneasy dreams
of the bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg, he slumbered as
peacefully as if he had been in his serene mansion in Saville Row.

The journey was resumed at six in the morning; the guide hoped to
reach Allahabad by evening. In that case, Mr. Fogg would only lose a
part of the forty-eight hours saved since the beginning of the tour.
Kiouni, resuming his rapid gait, soon descended the lower spurs of
the Vindhias, and towards noon they passed by the village of
Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches of the Ganges. The guide
avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer to keep the open country,
which lies along the first depressions of the basin of the great
river. Allahabad was now only twelve miles to the north-east. They
stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit of which, 70 as healthy as
bread and as succulent as cream, was amply partaken of and appreciated.

At two o’clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended
several miles; he preferred to travel under cover of the woods.
They had not as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the journey
seemed on the point of being successfully accomplished, when the
elephant, becoming restless, suddenly stopped.

It was then four o’clock.

“What’s the matter?” asked Sir Francis, putting out his head.

“I don’t know, officer,” replied the Parsee, listening attentively
to a confused murmur which came through the thick branches.

The murmur soon became more distinct; it now seemed like a distant
concert of human voices accompanied by brass instruments. Passepartout
was all eyes and ears. Mr. Fogg patiently waited without a word. The
Parsee jumped to the ground, fastened the elephant to a tree, and
plunged into the thicket. He soon returned, saying,—

“A procession of Brahmins is coming this way. We must prevent their
seeing us, if possible.”

The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at the
same time asking the travellers not to stir. He held himself ready to
bestride the animal at a moment’s notice, should flight become
necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession of the
faithful would pass without perceiving them amid the thick foliage,
in which they were wholly concealed.

The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer, and
now droning songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and
cymbals. The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the trees,
a hundred paces away; and the strange figures who performed the
religious ceremony were easily71 distinguished through the branches.
First came the priests, with mitres on their heads, and clothed in
long lace robes. They were surrounded by men, women, and children,
who sang a kind of lugubrious psalm, interrupted at regular intervals
by the tambourines and cymbals; while behind them was drawn a car
with large wheels, the spokes of which represented serpents entwined
with each other. Upon the car, which was drawn by four richly
caparisoned zebus, stood a hideous statue with four arms, the body
coloured a dull red, with haggard eyes, dishevelled hair, protruding
tongue, and lips tinted with betel. It stood upright upon the figure
of a prostrate and headless giant.

A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado around the
statue; these were striped with ochre, and covered with cuts whence
their blood issued drop by drop,—stupid fanatics, who, in the great
Indian ceremonies, still throw themselves under the wheels of
Juggernaut. Some Brahmins, clad in all the sumptuousness of Oriental
apparel, and leading a woman who faltered at every step, followed.
This woman was young, and as fair as a European. Her head and neck,
shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels
and gems,—with bracelets, earrings, and rings; while a tunic bordered
with gold, and covered with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline
of her form.

The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent contrast
to her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at their waists,
and long damascened pistols, and bearing a corpse on a palanquin.
It was the body of an old man, gorgeously arrayed in the habiliments
of a rajah, wearing, 72 as in life, a turban embroidered with pearls, a
robe of tissue of silk and gold, a scarf of cashmere sewed with
diamonds, and the magnificent weapons of a Hindoo prince. Next came
the musicians and a rearguard of capering fakirs, whose cries
sometimes drowned the noise of the instruments; these closed the
procession.

The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips. The procession
slowly wound under the trees, and soon its last ranks disappeared in
the depths of the wood. The songs gradually died away; occasionally
cries were heard in the distance, until at last all was silence again.

Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as the
procession had disappeared, asked, “What is a ‘suttee’?”

“A suttee,” returned the general, “is a human sacrifice, but a
voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned to-morrow
at the dawn of day.”

“Oh, the scoundrels!” cried Passepartout, who could not repress his
indignation.

“And the corpse?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“Is that of the prince, her husband,” said the guide; “an independent
rajah of Bundelcund.”

“Is it possible,” resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not the
least emotion, “that these barbarous customs still exist in India,
and that the English have been unable to put a stop to them?”

“These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India,”
replied Sir Francis; “but we have no power over these savage
territories, and especially here in Bundelcund. The whole district
north of the Vindhias is the theatre of incessant murders and pillage.”

“Yes,” returned Sir Francis, “burned alive. And if she were not,
you cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to submit to
from her relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed her on a
scanty allowance of rice, treat her with contempt; she would be
looked upon as an unclean creature, and would die in some corner,
like a scurvy dog. The prospect of so frightful an existence drives
these poor creatures to the sacrifice much more than love or
religious fanaticism. Sometimes, however, the sacrifice is really
voluntary, and it requires the active interference of the Government
to prevent it. Several years ago, when I was living at Bombay, a
young widow asked permission of the governor to be burned along with
her husband’s body; but, as you may imagine, he refused. The woman
left the town, took refuge with an independent rajah, and there
carried out her self-devoted purpose.”

While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several
times, and now said, “The sacrifice which will take place to-morrow
at dawn is not a voluntary one.”

“How do you know?”

“Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund.”

“But the wretched creature did not seem to be making any
resistance,” observed Sir Francis.

“That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and
opium.”

“But where are they taking her?”

“To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here; she will pass the
night there.”

“And the sacrifice will take place—”

“To-morrow, at the first light of dawn.”

The guide now led the elephant out of the thicket, and leaped upon
his neck. Just at the moment that he was about to74 urge Kiouni forward
with a peculiar whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped him, and, turning to Sir
Francis Cromarty, said, “Suppose we save this woman.”

CHAPTER XIII

In which Passepartout receives a new proof
that fortune favours the brave

T

HE project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps impracticable.
Mr. Fogg was going to risk life, or at least liberty, and therefore
the success of his tour. But he did not hesitate, and he found in Sir
Francis Cromarty an enthusiastic ally.

As for Passepartout, he was ready for anything that might be proposed.
His master’s idea charmed him; he perceived a heart, a soul, under
that icy exterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg.

There remained the guide: what course would he adopt? Would he not
take part with the Indians? In default of his assistance, it was
necessary to be assured of his neutrality.

Sir Francis frankly put the question to him.

“Officer,” replied the guide, “I am a Parsee, and this woman is a
Parsee. Command me as you will.”

“Excellent!” said Mr. Fogg.

“However,” resumed the guide, “it is certain, not only that we shall
risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken.”

The76 worthy Indian then gave some account of the victim, who, he
said, was a celebrated beauty of the Parsee race, and the daughter of
a wealthy Bombay merchant. She had received a thoroughly English
education in that city, and, from her manners and intelligence, would
be thought an European. Her name was Aouda. Left an orphan, she was
married against her will to the old rajah of Bundelcund; and, knowing
the fate that awaited her, she escaped, was retaken, and devoted by
the rajah’s relatives, who had an interest in her death, to the
sacrifice from which it seemed she could not escape.

The Parsee’s narrative only confirmed Mr. Fogg and his companions in
their generous design. It was decided that the guide should direct
the elephant towards the pagoda of Pillaji, which he accordingly
approached as quickly as possible. They halted, half an hour
afterwards, in a copse some five hundred feet from the pagoda, where
they were well concealed; but they could hear the groans and cries of
the fakirs distinctly.

Then they discussed the means of getting at the victim. The guide
was familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he declared,
the young woman was imprisoned. Could they enter any of its doors
while the whole party of Indians was plunged in a drunken sleep, or
was it safer to attempt to make a hole in the walls? This could only
be determined at the moment and the place themselves; but it was
certain that the abduction must be made that night, and not when, at
break of day, the victim was led to her funeral pyre. Then no human
intervention could save her.

As soon as night fell, about six o’clock, they decided to make a
reconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs were just
ceasing; the Indians were in the act of plunging themselves into the
drunkenness caused by liquid opium77 mingled with hemp, and it might be
possible to slip between them to the temple itself.

The Parsee, leading the others, noiselessly crept through the wood,
and in ten minutes they found themselves on the banks of a small
stream, whence, by the light of the rosin torches, they perceived a
pyre of wood, on the top of which lay the embalmed body of the rajah,
which was to be burned with his wife. The pagoda, whose minarets
loomed above the trees in the deepening dusk, stood a hundred steps
away.

“Come!” whispered the guide.

He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush, followed by
his companions; the silence around was only broken by the low
murmuring of the wind among the branches.

Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit
up by the torches. The ground was covered by groups of the Indians,
motionless in their drunken sleep; it seemed a battlefield strewn
with the dead. Men, women, and children lay together.

In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji loomed
indistinctly. Much to the guide’s disappointment, the guards of the
rajah, lighted by torches, were watching at the doors and marching to
and fro with naked sabres; probably the priests, too, were watching
within.

The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to force an
entrance to the temple, advanced no farther, but led his companions
back again. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty also saw that
nothing could be attempted in that direction. They stopped, and
engaged in a whispered colloquy.

“It is only eight now,” said the brigadier, “and these guards may
also go to sleep.”

“It is not impossible,” returned the Parsee.

They lay down at the foot of a tree, and waited.

The78 time seemed long; the guide ever and anon left them to take an
observation on the edge of the wood, but the guards watched steadily
by the glare of the torches, and a dim light crept through the
windows of the pagoda.

They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards,
and it became apparent that their yielding to sleep could not be
counted on. The other plan must be carried out; an opening in the
walls of the pagoda must be made. It remained to ascertain whether
the priests were watching by the side of their victim as assiduously
as were the soldiers at the door.

After a last consultation, the guide announced that he was ready for
the attempt, and advanced, followed by the others. They took a
roundabout way, so as to get at the pagoda on the rear. They reached
the walls about half-past twelve, without having met any one; here
there was no guard, nor were there either windows or doors.

The night was dark. The moon, on the wane, scarcely left the
horizon, and was covered with heavy clouds; the height of the trees
deepened the darkness.

It was not enough to reach the walls; an opening in them must be
accomplished, and to attain this purpose the party only had their
pocket-knives. Happily the temple walls were built of brick and wood,
which could be penetrated with little difficulty; after one brick had
been taken out, the rest would yield easily.

They set noiselessly to work, and the Parsee on one side and
Passepartout on the other began to loosen the bricks, so as to make an
aperture two feet wide. They were getting on rapidly, when suddenly a
cry was heard in the interior of the temple, followed almost instantly
by other cries replying from the outside. Passepartout and the guide
stopped. Had they been heard? Was the alarm being given? Common
prudence urged them to retire, and they did so, followed by Phileas79
Fogg and Sir Francis. They again hid themselves in the wood, and
waited till the disturbance, whatever it might be, ceased, holding
themselves ready to resume their attempt without delay. But, awkwardly
enough, the guards now appeared at the rear of the temple, and there
installed themselves, in readiness to prevent a surprise.

It would be difficult to describe the disappointment of the party,
thus interrupted in their work. They could not now reach the victim;
how, then, could they save her? Sir Francis shook his fists,
Passepartout was beside himself, and the guide gnashed his teeth with
rage. The tranquil Fogg waited, without betraying any emotion.

“We have nothing to do but to go away,” whispered Sir Francis.

“Nothing but to go away,” echoed the guide.

“Stop,” said Fogg. “I am only due at Allahabad to-morrow before noon.”

“But what can you hope to do?” asked Sir Francis. “In a few hours it
will be daylight, and—”

“The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last
moment.”

Sir Francis would have liked to read Phileas Fogg’s eyes.

What was this cool Englishman thinking of? Was he planning to make a
rush for the young woman at the very moment of the sacrifice, and
boldly snatch her from her executioners?

This would be utter folly, and it was hard to admit that Fogg was
such a fool. Sir Francis consented, however, to remain to the end of
this terrible drama. The guide led them to the rear of the glade,
where they were able to observe the sleeping groups.

Meanwhile Passepartout, who had perched himself on the lower
branches of a tree, was resolving an idea which had80 at first struck
him like a flash, and which was now firmly lodged in his brain.

He had commenced by saying to himself, “What folly!” and then he
repeated, “Why not, after all? It’s a chance,—perhaps the only one;
and with such sots!” Thinking thus, he slipped, with the suppleness
of a serpent, to the lowest branches, the ends of which bent almost
to the ground.

The hours passed, and the lighter shades now announced the approach
of day, though it was not yet light. This was the moment. The
slumbering multitude became animated, the tambourines sounded,
songs and cries arose; the hour of the sacrifice had come. The
doors of the pagoda swung open, and a bright light escaped from
its interior, in the midst of which Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis espied
the victim. She seemed, having shaken off the stupor of intoxication,
to be striving to escape from her executioner. Sir Francis’ heart
throbbed; and convulsively seizing Mr. Fogg’s hand, found in it an
open knife. Just at this moment the crowd began to move. The young
woman had again fallen into a stupor, caused by the fumes of hemp,
and passed among the fakirs, who escorted her with their wild,
religious cries.

Phileas Fogg and his companions, mingling in the rear ranks of the
crowd, followed; and in two minutes they reached the banks of the
stream, and stopped fifty paces from the pyre, upon which still lay
the rajah’s corpse. In the semi-obscurity they saw the victim, quite
senseless, stretched out beside her husband’s body. Then a torch was
brought, and the wood, soaked with oil, instantly took fire.

At this moment Sir Francis and the guide seized Phileas Fogg, who,
in an instant of mad generosity, was about to rush upon the pyre.
But he had quickly pushed them aside, when the whole scene suddenly
changed. A cry of terror arose. 81 The whole multitude prostrated
themselves, terror-stricken, on the ground.

The old rajah was not dead, then, since he rose of a sudden, like a
spectre, took up his wife in his arms, and descended from the pyre in
the midst of the clouds of smoke, which only heightened his ghostly
appearance.

Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror, lay
there, with their faces on the ground, not daring to lift their eyes
and behold such a prodigy.

The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms which
supported her, and which she did not seem in the least to burden.
Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis stood erect, the Parsee bowed his head, and
Passepartout was, no doubt, scarcely less stupefied.

The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, and, in
an abrupt tone, said, “Let us be off!”

It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre in the
midst of the smoke and, profiting by the still overhanging darkness,
had delivered the young woman from death! It was Passepartout who,
playing his part with a happy audacity, had passed through the crowd
amid the general terror.

A moment after all four of the party had disappeared in the woods,
and the elephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace. But the cries
and noise, and a ball which whizzed through Phileas Fogg’s hat,
apprised them that the trick had been discovered.

The old rajah’s body, indeed, now appeared upon the burning pyre;
and the priests, recovered from their terror, perceived that an
abduction had taken place. They hastened into the forest, followed by
the soldiers, who fired a volley after the fugitives; but the latter
rapidly increased the distance between them, and ere long found
themselves beyond the reach of the bullets and arrows.

CHAPTER XIV

In which Phileas Fogg descends the whole length
of the beautiful valley of the Ganges without
ever thinking of seeing it

T

HE rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour Passepartout
laughed gaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed the worthy fellow’s
hand, and his master said, “Well done!” which, from him, was high
commendation; to which Passepartout replied that all the credit of
the affair belonged to Mr. Fogg. As for him, he had only been struck
with a “queer” idea; and he laughed to think that for a few moments
he, Passepartout, the ex-gymnast, ex-sergeant fireman, had been the
spouse of a charming woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah! As for the
young Indian woman, she had been unconscious throughout of what was
passing, and now, wrapped up in a travelling-blanket, was reposing in
one of the howdahs.

The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee, was
advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour
after leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain. They made a halt
at seven o’clock, the young woman being still in a state of complete
prostration. The guide made her drink a little brandy and water, but
the drowsiness which stupefied her could not yet be shaken off. Sir
Francis, who was familiar with the effects of the intoxication produced
by the fumes of hemp, reassured his companions83 on her account. But he
was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate. He told Phileas
Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall
again into the hands of her executioners. These fanatics were scattered
throughout the country, and would, despite the English police, recover
their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe by
quitting India for ever.

Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.

The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o’clock, and the
interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them to reach
Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours. Phileas Fogg would thus be
able to arrive in time to take the steamer which left Calcutta the
next day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong.

The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the
station, whilst Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her
various articles of toilet, a dress, shawl, and some furs; for which
his master gave him unlimited credit. Passepartout started off
forthwith, and found himself in the streets of Allahabad, that is,
the “City of God,” one of the most venerated in India, being built at
the junction of the two sacred rivers, Ganges and Jumna, the waters
of which attract pilgrims from every part of the peninsula. The
Ganges, according to the legends of the Ramayana, rises in heaven,
whence, owing to Brahma’s agency, it descends to the earth.

Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a
good look at the city. It was formerly defended by a noble fort,
which has since become a state prison; its commerce has dwindled
away, and Passepartout in vain looked about him for such a bazaar as
he used to frequent in Regent Street. At last he came upon an elderly,
crusty Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whom he purchased
a84 dress of Scotch stuff, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skin pelisse,
for which he did not hesitate to pay seventy-five pounds. He then
returned triumphantly to the station.

The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda
began gradually to yield, and she became more herself, so that her
fine eyes resumed all their soft Indian expression.

When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the queen
of Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus:—

“Her shining tresses, divided in two parts, encircle the harmonious
contour of her white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow and
freshness. Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of
Kama, the god of love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest
reflections and a celestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of
Himalaya, in the black pupils of her great clear eyes. Her teeth,
fine, equal, and white, glitter between her smiling lips like
dewdrops in a passion-flower’s half-enveloped breast. Her delicately
formed ears, her vermilion hands, her little feet, curved and tender
as the lotus-bud, glitter with the brilliancy of the loveliest pearls
of Ceylon, the most dazzling diamonds of Golconda. Her narrow and
supple waist, which a hand may clasp around, sets forth the outline
of her rounded figure and the beauty of her bosom, where youth in its
flower displays the wealth of its treasures; and beneath the silken
folds of her tunic she seems to have been modelled in pure silver by
the godlike hand of Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor.”

It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to
Aouda, that she was a charming woman, in all the European acceptation
of the phrase. She spoke English with great purity, and the guide had
not exaggerated in saying that the young Parsee had been transformed
by her bringing up.

The85 train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg proceeded to
pay the guide the price agreed upon for his service, and not a farthing
more; which astonished Passepartout, who remembered all that his master
owed to the guide’s devotion. He had, indeed, risked his life in the
adventure at Pillaji, and if he should be caught afterwards by the
Indians, he would with difficulty escape their vengeance. Kiouni, also,
must be disposed of. What should be done with the elephant, which had
been so dearly purchased? Phileas Fogg had already determined this
question.

“Parsee,” said he to the guide, “you have been serviceable and
devoted. I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion.
Would you like to have this elephant? He is yours.”

The guide’s eyes glistened.

“Your honour is giving me a fortune!” cried he.

“Take him, guide,” returned Mr. Fogg, “and I shall still be your
debtor.”

“Good!” exclaimed Passepartout; “take him, friend. Kiouni is a brave
and faithful beast.” And, going up to the elephant, he gave him
several lumps of sugar, saying, “Here, Kiouni, here, here.”

The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping
Passepartout around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as
his head. Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed the animal,
which replaced him gently on the ground.

Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout,
installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were
whirling at full speed towards Benares. It was a run of eighty miles,
and was accomplished in two hours. During the journey, the young
woman fully recovered her senses. What was her astonishment to find
herself in this carriage, on the railway, dressed in European
habiliments, and86 with travellers who were quite strangers to her! Her
companions first set about fully reviving her with a little liquor,
and then Sir Francis narrated to her what had passed, dwelling upon
the courage with which Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his
life to save her, and recounting the happy sequel of the venture, the
result of Passepartout’s rash idea. Mr. Fogg said nothing; while
Passepartout, abashed, kept repeating that “it wasn’t worth telling.”

Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears than
words; her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her lips.
Then, as her thoughts strayed back to the scene of the sacrifice, and
recalled the dangers which still menaced her, she shuddered with
terror.

Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda’s mind, and
offered, in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong, where
she might remain safely until the affair was hushed up—an offer
which she eagerly and gratefully accepted. She had, it seems, a
Parsee relation, who was one of the principal merchants of Hong Kong,
which is wholly an English city, though on an island on the Chinese
coast.

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. The Brahmin
legends assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient
Casi, which, like Mahomet’s tomb, was once suspended between heaven
and earth; though the Benares of to-day, which the Orientalists call
the Athens of India, stands quite unpoetically on the solid earth.
Passepartout caught glimpses of its brick houses and clay huts,
giving an aspect of desolation to the place, as the train entered it.

Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty’s destination, the troops he was
rejoining being encamped some miles northward of the city. He bade
adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success, and expressing the
hope that he would come that way again in a less original but more
profitable fashion. Mr. Fogg lightly pressed him by the hand. The
parting of Aouda, 87 who did not forget what she owed to Sir Francis,
betrayed more warmth; and, as for Passepartout, he received a hearty
shake of the hand from the gallant general.

The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the valley
of the Ganges. Through the windows of their carriage the travellers
had glimpses of the diversified landscape of Behar, with its
mountains clothed in verdure, its fields of barley, wheat, and corn,
its jungles peopled with green alligators, its neat villages, and its
still thickly-leaved forests. Elephants were bathing in the waters of
the sacred river, and groups of Indians, despite the advanced season
and chilly air, were performing solemnly their pious ablutions. These
were fervent Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities
being Vishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of natural
forces, and Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators. What
would these divinities think of India, anglicized as it is to-day, with
steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges, frightening the gulls
which float upon its surface, the turtles swarming along its banks, and
the faithful dwelling upon its borders?

The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the
steam concealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers could
scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles south-westward
from Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or
Ghazipur and its famous rose-water factories; or the tomb of Lord
Cornwallis, rising on the left bank of the Ganges; the fortified town
of Buxar, or Patna, a large manufacturing and trading-place, where is
held the principal opium market of India; or Monghir, a more than
European town, for it is as English as Manchester or Birmingham, with
its iron foundries, edge-tool factories, and high chimneys puffing
clouds of black smoke heavenward.

Night88 came on; the train passed on at full speed, in the midst of
the roaring of the tigers, bears, and wolves which fled before the
locomotive; and the marvels of Bengal, Golconda, ruined Gour,
Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly, and the French town
of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to see his
country’s flag flying, were hidden from their view in the darkness.

Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning, and the packet left
for Hong Kong at noon; so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before him.

According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of
October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival. He was
therefore neither behindhand nor ahead of time. The two days gained
between London and Bombay had been lost, as has been seen, in the
journey across India. But it is not to be supposed that Phileas Fogg
regretted them.

CHAPTER XV

In which the bag of bank-notes disgorges
some thousands of pounds more

T

HE train entered the station, and Passepartout, jumping out first,
was followed by Mr. Fogg, who assisted his fair companion to descend.
Phileas Fogg intended to proceed at once to the Hong Kong steamer,
in order to get Aouda comfortably settled for the voyage. He was
unwilling to leave her while they were still on dangerous ground.

Just as he was leaving the station a policeman came up to him, and
said, “Mr. Phileas Fogg?”

Mr. Fogg betrayed no surprise whatever. The policeman was a
representative of the law, and law is sacred to an Englishman.
Passepartout tried to reason about the matter, but the policeman
tapped him with his stick, and Mr. Fogg made him a signal to obey.

“May this young lady go with us?” asked he.

“She may,” replied the policeman.

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were conducted to a palki-ghari, a
sort of four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses, in which they
took their places and were driven away. 90 No one spoke during the
twenty minutes which elapsed before they reached their destination.
They first passed through the “black town,” with its narrow streets,
its miserable, dirty huts, and squalid population; then through the
“European town,” which presented a relief in its bright brick
mansions, shaded by cocoanut-trees and bristling with masts, where,
although it was early morning, elegantly dressed horsemen and
handsome equipages were passing back and forth.

The carriage stopped before a modest-looking house, which, however,
did not have the appearance of a private mansion. The policeman
having requested his prisoners—for so, truly, they might be called—to
descend, conducted them into a room with barred windows, and said, “You
will appear before Judge Obadiah at half-past eight.”

He then retired, and closed the door.

“Why, we are prisoners!” exclaimed Passepartout, falling into a chair.

Aouda, with an emotion she tried to conceal, said to Mr. Fogg, “Sir,
you must leave me to my fate! It is on my account that you receive
this treatment; it is for having saved me!”

Phileas Fogg contented himself with saying that it was impossible.
It was quite unlikely that he should be arrested for preventing a
suttee. The complainants would not dare present themselves with such
a charge. There was some mistake. Moreover, he would not in any event
abandon Aouda, but would escort her to Hong Kong.

“But the steamer leaves at noon!” observed Passepartout, nervously.

“We shall be on board by noon,” replied his master, placidly.

It was said so positively, that Passepartout could not help muttering
to himself, “Parbleu, that’s certain! Before noon91 we shall be on
board.” But he was by no means reassured.

At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman appeared, and,
requesting them to follow him, led the way to an adjoining hall.
It was evidently a court-room, and a crowd of Europeans and natives
already occupied the rear of the apartment.

Mr. Fogg and his two companions took their places on a bench
opposite the desks of the magistrate and his clerk. Immediately
after, Judge Obadiah, a fat, round man, followed by the clerk,
entered. He proceeded to take down a wig which was hanging on
a nail, and put it hurriedly on his head.

“The first case,” said he; then, putting his hand to his head, he
exclaimed, “Heh! This is not my wig!”

“No, your worship,” returned the clerk, “it is mine.”

“My dear Mr. Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise sentence in a
clerk’s wig?”

The wigs were exchanged.

Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of the
big clock over the judge seemed to go round with terrible rapidity.

“The first case,” repeated Judge Obadiah.

“Phileas Fogg?” demanded Oysterpuff.

“I am here,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“Passepartout?”

“Present!” responded Passepartout.

“Good,” said the judge. “You have been looked for, prisoners, for
two days on the trains from Bombay.”

“But of what are we accused?” asked Passepartout, impatiently.

“You are about to be informed.”

“I am an English subject, sir,” said Mr. Fogg, “and I have the right—”

A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian
priests entered.

“That’s it,” muttered Passepartout; “these are the rogues who were
going to burn our young lady.”

The priests took their places in front of the judge, and the clerk
proceeded to read in a loud voice a complaint of sacrilege against
Phileas Fogg and his servant, who were accused of having violated a
place held consecrated by the Brahmin religion.

“You hear the charge?” asked the judge.

“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, “and I admit it.”

“You admit it?”

“I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their turn,
what they were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji.”

The priests looked at each other; they did not seem to understand
what was said.

“Yes,” cried Passepartout, warmly; “at the pagoda of Pillaji, where
they were on the point of burning their victim.”

The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were stupefied.

“What victim?” said Judge Obadiah. “Burn whom? In Bombay itself?”

“Bombay?” cried Passepartout.

“Certainly. We are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of the
pagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay.”

“And as a proof,” added the clerk, “here are the desecrator’s very
shoes, which he left behind him.”

The93 confusion of master and man, who had quite forgotten the affair
at Bombay, for which they were now detained at Calcutta, may be
imagined.

Fix, the detective, had foreseen the advantage which Passepartout’s
escapade gave him, and, delaying his departure for twelve hours, had
consulted the priests of Malabar Hill. Knowing that the English
authorities dealt very severely with this kind of misdemeanour, he
promised them a goodly sum in damages, and sent them forward to
Calcutta by the next train. Owing to the delay caused by the rescue
of the young widow, Fix and the priests reached the Indian capital
before Mr. Fogg and his servant, the magistrates having been already
warned by a despatch to arrest them, should they arrive. Fix’s
disappointment when he learned that Phileas Fogg had not made his
appearance in Calcutta, may be imagined. He made up his mind that the
robber had stopped somewhere on the route and taken refuge in the
southern provinces. For twenty-four hours Fix watched the station
with feverish anxiety; at last he was rewarded by seeing Mr. Fogg
and Passepartout arrive, accompanied by a young woman, whose presence
he was wholly at a loss to explain. He hastened for a policeman; and
this was how the party came to be arrested and brought before Judge
Obadiah.

Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have
espied the detective ensconced in a corner of the court-room,
watching the proceedings with an interest easily understood; for the
warrant had failed to reach him at Calcutta, as it had done at Bombay
and Suez.

Judge Obadiah had unfortunately caught Passepartout’s rash
exclamation, which the poor fellow would have given the world to
recall.

“The facts are admitted?” asked the judge.

“Admitted,” replied Mr. Fogg, coldly.

“Inasmuch,” 94 resumed the judge, “as the English law protects equally
and sternly the religions of the Indian people, and as the man
Passepartout has admitted that he violated the sacred pagoda of
Malabar Hill, at Bombay, on the 20th of October, I condemn the said
Passepartout to imprisonment for fifteen days and a fine of three
hundred pounds.”

“Three hundred pounds!” cried Passepartout, startled at the
largeness of the sum.

“Silence!” shouted the constable.

“And inasmuch,” continued the judge, “as it is not proved that the
act was not done by the connivance of the master with the servant,
and as the master in any case must be held responsible for the acts
of his paid servant, I condemn Phileas Fogg to a week’s imprisonment
and a fine of one hundred and fifty pounds.”

Fix rubbed his hands softly with satisfaction; if Phileas Fogg could
be detained in Calcutta a week, it would be more than time for the
warrant to arrive. Passepartout was stupefied. This sentence ruined
his master. A wager of twenty thousand pounds lost, because he, like
a precious fool, had gone into that abominable pagoda!

Phileas Fogg, as self-composed as if the judgment did not in the
least concern him, did not even lift his eyebrows while it was being
pronounced. Just as the clerk was calling the next case, he rose, and
said, “I offer bail.”

“You have that right,” returned the judge.

Fix’s blood ran cold, but he resumed his composure when he heard the
judge announce that the bail required for each prisoner would be one
thousand pounds.

“I will pay it at once,” said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank-bills
from the carpet-bag, which Passepartout had by him, and placing them
on the clerk’s desk.

“This95 sum will be restored to you upon your release from prison,”
said the judge. “Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail.”

“Ah, these are pretty dear shoes!” he muttered, as they were handed
to him. “More than a thousand pounds apiece; besides, they pinch my feet.”

Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Aouda, then departed, followed by the
crestfallen Passepartout. Fix still nourished hopes that the robber
would not, after all, leave the two thousand pounds behind him, but
would decide to serve out his week in jail, and issued forth on Mr.
Fogg’s traces. That gentleman took a carriage, and the party were
soon landed on one of the quays.

The Rangoon was moored half a mile off in the harbour, its signal of
departure hoisted at the mast-head. Eleven o’clock was striking; Mr.
Fogg was an hour in advance of time. Fix saw them leave the carriage
and push off in a boat for the steamer, and stamped his feet with
disappointment.

“The rascal is off, after all!” he exclaimed. “Two thousand pounds
sacrificed! He’s as prodigal as a thief! I’ll follow him to the end
of the world if necessary; but at the rate he is going on, the stolen
money will soon be exhausted.”

The detective was not far wrong in making this conjecture. Since
leaving London, what with travelling-expenses, bribes, the purchase
of the elephant, bails, and fines, Mr. Fogg had already spent more
than five thousand pounds on the way, and the percentage of the sum
recovered from the bank robber, promised to the detectives, was rapidly
diminishing.

CHAPTER XVI

In which Fix does not seem to understand
in the least what is said to him

T

HE Rangoon—one of the Peninsular and Oriental Company’s boats
plying in the Chinese and Japanese seas—was a screw steamer, built
of iron, weighing about seventeen hundred and seventy tons, and with
engines of four hundred horse-power. She was as fast, but not as well
fitted up, as the Mongolia, and Aouda was not as comfortably provided
for on board of her as Phileas Fogg could have wished. However, the
trip from Calcutta to Hong Kong only comprised some three thousand
five hundred miles, occupying from ten to twelve days, and the young
woman was not difficult to please.

During the first days of the journey Aouda became better acquainted
with her protector, and constantly gave evidence of her deep
gratitude for what he had done. The phlegmatic gentleman listened to
her, apparently at least, with coldness, neither his voice nor his
manner betraying the slightest emotion; but he seemed to be always on
the watch that nothing should be wanting to Aouda’s comfort. He
visited her regularly each day at certain hours, not so much to talk
himself as to sit and hear her talk. He treated her with the
strictest politeness, but with the precision of an automaton, the
movements of which had been arranged for this purpose. Aouda did not
quite know what to make of him, though97 Passepartout had given her
some hints of his master’s eccentricity, and made her smile by
telling her of the wager which was sending him round the world. After
all, she owed Phileas Fogg her life, and she always regarded him
through the exalting medium of her gratitude.

Aouda confirmed the Parsee guide’s narrative of her touching history.
She did, indeed, belong to the highest of the native races of India.
Many of the Parsee merchants have made great fortunes there by
dealing in cotton; and one of them, Sir Jametsee Jeejeebhoy, was made
a baronet by the English government. Aouda was a relative of this
great man, and it was his cousin, Jejeeh, whom she hoped to join at
Hong Kong. Whether she would find a protector in him she could not
tell; but Mr. Fogg essayed to calm her anxieties, and to assure her
that everything would be mathematically—he used the very
word—arranged. Aouda fastened her great eyes, “clear as the sacred
lakes of the Himalaya,” upon him; but the intractable Fogg, as reserved
as ever, did not seem at all inclined to throw himself into this lake.

The first few days of the voyage passed prosperously, amid
favourable weather and propitious winds, and they soon came in sight
of the great Andaman, the principal of the islands in the Bay of
Bengal, with its picturesque Saddle Peak, two thousand four hundred
feet high, looming above the waters. The steamer passed along near
the shores, but the savage Papuans, who are in the lowest scale of
humanity, but are not, as has been asserted, cannibals, did not make
their appearance.

The panorama of the islands, as they steamed by them, was superb.
Vast forests of palms, arecs, bamboo, teakwood, of the gigantic
mimosa, and tree-like ferns covered the foreground, while behind, the
graceful outlines of the mountains were traced against the sky; and
along the coasts swarmed by thousands the precious swallows whose
nests furnish98 a luxurious dish to the tables of the Celestial Empire.
The varied landscape afforded by the Andaman Islands was soon passed,
however, and the Rangoon rapidly approached the Straits of Malacca,
which gave access to the China seas.

What was detective Fix, so unluckily drawn on from country to
country, doing all this while? He had managed to embark on the
Rangoon at Calcutta without being seen by Passepartout, after leaving
orders that, if the warrant should arrive, it should be forwarded to
him at Hong Kong; and he hoped to conceal his presence to the end of
the voyage. It would have been difficult to explain why he was on board
without awaking Passepartout’s suspicions, who thought him still at
Bombay. But necessity impelled him, nevertheless, to renew his
acquaintance with the worthy servant, as will be seen.

All the detective’s hopes and wishes were now centered on Hong Kong;
for the steamer’s stay at Singapore would be too brief to enable him
to take any steps there. The arrest must be made at Hong Kong, or the
robber would probably escape him for ever. Hong Kong was the last
English ground on which he would set foot; beyond, China, Japan,
America offered to Fogg an almost certain refuge. If the warrant
should at last make its appearance at Hong Kong, Fix could arrest
him and give him into the hands of the local police, and there would
be no further trouble. But beyond Hong Kong, a simple warrant would
be of no avail; an extradition warrant would be necessary, and that
would result in delays and obstacles, of which the rascal would take
advantage to elude justice.

Fix thought over these probabilities during the long hours which he
spent in his cabin, and kept repeating to himself, “Now, either the
warrant will be at Hong Kong, in which case I shall arrest my man, or
it will not be there; and this time it is absolutely necessary that I
should delay his departure. 99 I have failed at Bombay, and I have failed
at Calcutta; if I fail at Hong Kong, my reputation is lost. Cost what
it may, I must succeed! But how shall I prevent his departure, if that
should turn out to be my last resource?”

Fix made up his mind that, if worst came to worst, he would make a
confidant of Passepartout, and tell him what kind of a fellow his
master really was. That Passepartout was not Fogg’s accomplice, he
was very certain. The servant, enlightened by his disclosure, and
afraid of being himself implicated in the crime, would doubtless
become an ally of the detective. But this method was a dangerous one,
only to be employed when everything else had failed. A word from
Passepartout to his master would ruin all. The detective was
therefore in a sore strait. But suddenly a new idea struck him. The
presence of Aouda on the Rangoon, in company with Phileas Fogg, gave
him new material for reflection.

Who was this woman? What combination of events had made her Fogg’s
travelling companion? They had evidently met somewhere between Bombay
and Calcutta; but where? Had they met accidentally, or had Fogg gone
into the interior purposely in quest of this charming damsel? Fix was
fairly puzzled. He asked himself whether there had not been a wicked
elopement; and this idea so impressed itself upon his mind that he
determined to make use of the supposed intrigue. Whether the young
woman were married or not, he would be able to create such difficulties
for Mr. Fogg at Hong Kong, that he could not escape by paying any amount
of money.

But could he even wait till they reached Hong Kong? Fogg had an
abominable way of jumping from one boat to another, and, before
anything could be effected, might get full under way again for
Yokohama.

Fix decided that he must warn the English authorities, and signal the
Rangoon before her arrival. This was easy to do, 100 since the steamer
stopped at Singapore, whence there is a telegraphic wire to Hong Kong.
He finally resolved, moreover, before acting more positively, to
question Passepartout. It would not be difficult to make him talk;
and, as there was no time to lose, Fix prepared to make himself known.

It was now the 30th of October, and on the following day the Rangoon
was due at Singapore.

Fix emerged from his cabin and went on deck. Passepartout was
promenading up and down in the forward part of the steamer. The
detective rushed forward with every appearance of extreme
surprise, and exclaimed, “You here, on the Rangoon?”

“What, Monsieur Fix, are you on board?” returned the really
astonished Passepartout, recognizing his crony of the Mongolia.
“Why, I left you at Bombay, and here you are, on the way to Hong
Kong! Are you going round the world too?”

“Hum!” said Passepartout, who seemed for an instant perplexed. “But
how is it I have not seen you on board since we left Calcutta?”

“Oh, a trifle of seasickness,—I’ve been staying in my berth. The
Gulf of Bengal does not agree with me as well as the Indian Ocean.
And how is Mr. Fogg?”

“As well and as punctual as ever, not a day behind time! But,
Monsieur Fix, you don’t know that we have a young lady with us.”

“A young lady?” replied the detective, not seeming to comprehend
what was said.

Passepartout thereupon recounted Aouda’s history, the affair at the
Bombay pagoda, the purchase of the elephant for two thousand pounds,
the rescue, the arrest and sentence of the Calcutta court, and the
restoration of Mr. Fogg and himself to liberty on bail. Fix, who was
familiar with the last events, 101 seemed to be equally ignorant of all
that Passepartout related; and the latter was charmed to find so
interested a listener.

“But does your master propose to carry this young woman to Europe?”

“Not at all. We are simply going to place her under the protection
of one of her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong Kong.”

“Nothing to be done there,” said Fix to himself, concealing his
disappointment. “A glass of gin, Mr. Passepartout?”

“Willingly, Monsieur Fix. We must at least have a friendly glass on
board the Rangoon.”

CHAPTER XVII

Showing what happened on the voyage
from Singapore to Hong Kong

T

HE detective and Passepartout met often on deck after this
interview, though Fix was reserved, and did not attempt to induce his
companion to divulge any more facts concerning Mr. Fogg. He caught a
glimpse of that mysterious gentleman once or twice; but Mr. Fogg
usually confined himself to the cabin, where he kept Aouda company,
or, according to his inveterate habit, took a hand at whist.

Passepartout began very seriously to conjecture what strange chance
kept Fix still on the route that his master was pursuing. It was
really worth considering why this certainly very amiable and complacent
person, whom he had first met at Suez, had then encountered on board
the Mongolia, who disembarked at Bombay, which he announced as his
destination, and now turned up so unexpectedly on the Rangoon, was
following Mr. Fogg’s tracks step by step. What was Fix’s object?
Passepartout was ready to wager his Indian shoes—which he religiously
preserved—that Fix would also leave Hong Kong at the same time with
them, and probably on the same steamer.

Passepartout might have cudgelled his brain for a century without
hitting upon the real object which the detective had in view. He
never could have imagined that Phileas Fogg was being tracked as
a robber around the globe. But103 as it is in human nature to attempt
the solution of every mystery, Passepartout suddenly discovered an
explanation of Fix’s movements, which was in truth far from
unreasonable. Fix, he thought, could only be an agent of Mr. Fogg’s
friends at the Reform Club, sent to follow him up, and to ascertain
that he really went round the world as had been agreed upon.

“It’s clear!” repeated the worthy servant to himself, proud of his
shrewdness. “He’s a spy sent to keep us in view! That isn’t quite
the thing, either, to be spying Mr. Fogg, who is so honourable a
man! Ah, gentlemen of the Reform, this shall cost you dear!”

Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say nothing
to his master, lest he should be justly offended at this mistrust on
the part of his adversaries. But he determined to chaff Fix, when he
had the chance, with mysterious allusions, which, however, need not
betray his real suspicions.

During the afternoon of Wednesday, October 30th, the Rangoon entered
the Strait of Malacca, which separates the peninsula of that name
from Sumatra. The mountainous and craggy islets intercepted the
beauties of this noble island from the view of the travellers. The
Rangoon weighed anchor at Singapore the next day at four a.m., to
receive coal, having gained half a day on the prescribed time of her
arrival. Phileas Fogg noted this gain in his journal, and then,
accompanied by Aouda, who betrayed a desire for a walk on shore,
disembarked.

Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg’s every movement, followed them
cautiously, without being himself perceived; while Passepartout,
laughing in his sleeve at Fix’s manoeuvres, went about his usual
errands.

The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are no
mountains; yet its appearance is not without attractions. It is a
park checkered by pleasant highways and avenues. A handsome carriage,
drawn by a sleek pair of New Holland104 horses, carried Phileas Fogg
and Aouda into the midst of rows of palms with brilliant foliage,
and of clove-trees whereof the cloves form the heart of a half-open
flower. Pepper plants replaced the prickly hedges of European fields;
sago-bushes, large ferns with gorgeous branches, varied the aspect of
this tropical clime; while nutmeg-trees in full foliage filled the air
with a penetrating perfume. Agile and grinning bands of monkeys skipped
about in the trees, nor were tigers wanting in the jungles.

After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr. Fogg
returned to the town, which is a vast collection of heavy-looking,
irregular houses, surrounded by charming gardens rich in tropical
fruits and plants; and at ten o’clock they re-embarked, closely
followed by the detective, who had kept them constantly in sight.

Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen mangoes—a
fruit as large as good-sized apples, of a dark-brown colour outside
and a bright red within, and whose white pulp, melting in the mouth,
affords gourmands a delicious sensation—was waiting for them on
deck. He was only too glad to offer some mangoes to Aouda, who
thanked him very gracefully for them.

At eleven o’clock the Rangoon rode out of Singapore harbour, and in
a few hours the high mountains of Malacca, with their forests,
inhabited by the most beautifully-furred tigers in the world, were
lost to view. Singapore is distant some thirteen hundred miles from
the island of Hong Kong, which is a little English colony near the
Chinese coast. Phileas Fogg hoped to accomplish the journey in six
days, so as to be in time for the steamer which would leave on the
5th 2 of November for Yokohama, the principal Japanese port.

The105Rangoon had a large quota of passengers, many of whom
disembarked at Singapore, among them a number of Indians, Ceylonese,
Chinamen, Malays, and Portuguese, mostly second-class travellers.

The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the last
quarter of the moon. The sea rolled heavily, and the wind at intervals
rose almost to a storm, but happily blew from the south-west, and thus
aided the steamer’s progress. The captain as often as possible put up
his sails, and under the double action of steam and sail, the vessel
made rapid progress along the coasts of Anam and Cochin China. Owing
to the defective construction of the Rangoon, however, unusual
precautions became necessary in unfavourable weather; but the loss of
time which resulted from this cause, while it nearly drove
Passepartout out of his senses, did not seem to affect his master in
the least. Passepartout blamed the captain, the engineer, and the
crew, and consigned all who were connected with the ship to the land
where the pepper grows. Perhaps the thought of the gas, which was
remorselessly burning at his expense in Saville Row, had something to
do with his hot impatience.

“You are in a great hurry, then,” said Fix to him one day, “to reach
Hong Kong?”

“A very great hurry!”

“Mr. Fogg, I suppose, is anxious to catch the steamer for Yokohama?”

“Terribly anxious.”

“You believe in this journey around the world, then?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you, Mr. Fix?”

“I? I don’t believe a word of it.”

“You’re a sly dog!” said Passepartout, winking at him.

This expression rather disturbed Fix, without his knowing why. Had the
Frenchman guessed his real purpose? He knew not what to think. But how
could Passepartout have discovered106 that he was a detective? Yet, in
speaking as he did, the man evidently meant more than he expressed.

Passepartout went still further the next day; he could not hold his
tongue.

“Mr. Fix,” said he, in a bantering tone; “shall we be so unfortunate
as to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?”

“Why,” responded Fix, a little embarrassed, “I don’t know; perhaps—”

“Ah, if you would only go on with us! An agent of the Peninsular
Company, you know, can’t stop on the way! You were only going to
Bombay, and here you are in China. America is not far off, and from
America to Europe is only a step.”

Fix looked intently at his companion, whose countenance was as
serene as possible, and laughed with him. But Passepartout persisted
in chaffing him by asking him if he made much by his present
occupation.

“Yes, and no,” returned Fix; “there is good and bad luck in such
things. But you must understand that I don’t travel at my own expense.”

“Oh, I am quite sure of that!” cried Passepartout, laughing heartily.

Fix, fairly puzzled, descended to his cabin and gave himself up to
his reflections. He was evidently suspected; somehow or other the
Frenchman had found out that he was a detective. But had he told
his master? What part was he playing in all this: was he an accomplice
or not? Was the game, then, up? Fix spent several hours turning these
things over in his mind, sometimes thinking that all was lost, then
persuading himself that Fogg was ignorant of his presence, and then
undecided what course it was best to take.

Nevertheless, he preserved his coolness of mind, and at last
resolved to deal plainly with Passepartout. If he did not find it
practicable to arrest Fogg at Hong Kong, and if Fogg made107
preparations to leave that last foothold of English territory, he,
Fix, would tell Passepartout all. Either the servant was the
accomplice of his master, and in this case the master knew of his
operations, and he should fail; or else the servant knew nothing
about the robbery, and then his interest would be to abandon the
robber.

Such was the situation between Fix and Passepartout. Meanwhile Phileas
Fogg moved about above them in the most majestic and unconscious
indifference. He was passing methodically in his orbit around the
world, regardless of the lesser stars which gravitated around him.
Yet there was near by what the astronomers would call a disturbing
star, which might have produced an agitation in this gentleman’s
heart. But no! the charms of Aouda failed to act, to Passepartout’s
great surprise; and the disturbances, if they existed, would have been
more difficult to calculate than those of Uranus which led to the
discovery of Neptune.

It was every day an increasing wonder to Passepartout, who read in
Aouda’s eyes the depths of her gratitude to his master. Phileas Fogg,
though brave and gallant, must be, he thought, quite heartless. As to
the sentiment which this journey might have awakened in him, there was
clearly no trace of such a thing; while poor Passepartout existed in
perpetual reveries.

One day he was leaning on the railing of the engine-room, and was
observing the engine, when a sudden pitch of the steamer threw the
screw out of the water. The steam came hissing out of the valves; and
this made Passepartout indignant.

“The valves are not sufficiently charged!” he exclaimed. “We are not
going. Oh, these English! If this was an American craft, we should
blow up, perhaps, but we should at all events go faster!”

CHAPTER XVIII

In which Phileas Fogg, Passepartout, and Fix
go each about his business

T

HE weather was bad during the latter days of the voyage. The wind,
obstinately remaining in the north-west, blew a gale, and retarded
the steamer. The Rangoon rolled heavily, and the passengers became
impatient of the long, monstrous waves which the wind raised before
their path. A sort of tempest arose on the 3rd of November, the squall
knocking the vessel about with fury, and the waves running high. The
Rangoon reefed all her sails, and even the rigging proved too much,
whistling and shaking amid the squall. The steamer was forced to
proceed slowly, and the captain estimated that she would reach Hong
Kong twenty hours behind time, and more if the storm lasted.

Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be
struggling especially to delay him, with his habitual tranquillity.
He never changed countenance for an instant, though a delay of twenty
hours, by making him too late for the Yokohama boat, would almost
inevitably cause the loss of the wager. But this man of nerve
manifested neither impatience nor annoyance; it seemed as if the
storm were a part of his programme, and had been foreseen. Aouda was
amazed to find him as calm as he had been from the first time she saw
him.

Fix109 did not look at the state of things in the same light. The storm
greatly pleased him. His satisfaction would have been complete had
the Rangoon been forced to retreat before the violence of wind and
waves. Each delay filled him with hope, for it became more and more
probable that Fogg would be obliged to remain some days at Hong Kong;
and now the heavens themselves became his allies, with the gusts and
squalls. It mattered not that they made him seasick—he made no
account of this inconvenience; and whilst his body was writhing under
their effects, his spirit bounded with hopeful exultation.

Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious
weather. Everything had gone so well till now! Earth and sea had
seemed to be at his master’s service; steamers and railways obeyed
him; wind and steam united to speed his journey. Had the hour of
adversity come? Passepartout was as much excited as if the twenty
thousand pounds were to come from his own pocket. The storm exasperated
him, the gale made him furious, and he longed to lash the obstinate sea
into obedience. Poor fellow! Fix carefully concealed from him his own
satisfaction, for, had he betrayed it, Passepartout could scarcely
have restrained himself from personal violence.

Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted, being
unable to remain quiet below, and taking it into his head to aid the
progress of the ship by lending a hand with the crew. He overwhelmed
the captain, officers, and sailors, who could not help laughing at his
impatience, with all sorts of questions. He wanted to know exactly how
long the storm was going to last; whereupon he was referred to the
barometer, which seemed to have no intention of rising. Passepartout
shook it, but with no perceptible effect; for neither shaking nor
maledictions could prevail upon it to change its mind.

On110 the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm
lessened its violence; the wind veered southward, and was once more
favourable. Passepartout cleared up with the weather. Some of the
sails were unfurled, and the Rangoon resumed its most rapid speed.
The time lost could not, however, be regained. Land was not signalled
until five o’clock on the morning of the 6th; the steamer was due on
the 5th. Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours behindhand, and the
Yokohama steamer would of course be missed.

The pilot went on board at six, and took his place on the bridge, to
guide the Rangoon through the channels to the port of Hong Kong.
Passepartout longed to ask him if the steamer had left for Yokohama;
but he dared not, for he wished to preserve the spark of hope which
still remained till the last moment. He had confided his anxiety to
Fix, who—the sly rascal!—tried to console him by saying that Mr.
Fogg would be in time if he took the next boat; but this only put
Passepartout in a passion.

Mr. Fogg, bolder than his servant, did not hesitate to approach the
pilot, and tranquilly ask him if he knew when a steamer would leave
Hong Kong for Yokohama.

“At high tide to-morrow morning,” answered the pilot.

“Ah!” said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any astonishment.

Passepartout, who heard what passed, would willingly have embraced
the pilot, while Fix would have been glad to twist his neck.

“Yes, sir; but they had to repair one of her boilers, and so her
departure was postponed till to-morrow.”

“Thank111 you,” returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to the
saloon.

Passepartout clasped the pilot’s hand and shook it heartily in his
delight, exclaiming, “Pilot, you are the best of good fellows!”

The pilot probably does not know to this day why his responses won
him this enthusiastic greeting. He remounted the bridge, and guided
the steamer through the flotilla of junks, tankas, and fishing boats
which crowd the harbour of Hong Kong.

At one o’clock the Rangoon was at the quay, and the passengers were
going ashore.

Chance had strangely favoured Phileas Fogg, for, had not the Carnatic
been forced to lie over for repairing her boilers, she would have
left on the 5th 4 of November, and the passengers for Japan would have
been obliged to await for a week the sailing of the next steamer. Mr.
Fogg was, it is true, twenty-four hours behind his time; but this
could not seriously imperil the remainder of his tour.

The steamer which crossed the Pacific from Yokohama to San Francisco
made a direct connection with that from Hong Kong, and it could not
sail until the latter reached Yokohama; and if Mr. Fogg was twenty-four
hours late on reaching Yokohama, this time would no doubt be easily
regained in the voyage of twenty-two days across the Pacific. He found
himself, then, about twenty-four hours behindhand, thirty-five days
after leaving London.

TheCarnatic was announced to leave Hong Kong at five the next
morning. Mr. Fogg had sixteen hours in which to attend to his business there,
which was to deposit Aouda safely with her wealthy relative.

On112 landing, he conducted her to a palanquin, in which they repaired
to the Club Hotel. A room was engaged for the young woman, and Mr.
Fogg, after seeing that she wanted for nothing, set out in search of
her cousin Jejeeh. He instructed Passepartout to remain at the hotel
until his return, that Aouda might not be left entirely alone.

Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt, every
one would know so wealthy and considerable a personage as the Parsee
merchant. Meeting a broker, he made the inquiry, to learn that
Jejeeh had left China two years before, and, retiring from business
with an immense fortune, had taken up his residence in Europe—in
Holland, the broker thought, with the merchants of which country he
had principally traded. Phileas Fogg returned to the hotel, begged a
moment’s conversation with Aouda, and, without more ado, apprised her
that Jejeeh was no longer at Hong Kong, but probably in Holland.

Aouda at first said nothing. She passed her hand across her
forehead, and reflected a few moments. Then, in her sweet, soft
voice, she said, “What ought I to do, Mr. Fogg?”

“It is very simple,” responded the gentleman. “Go on to Europe.”

“But I cannot intrude—”

“You do not intrude, nor do you in the least embarrass my project.
Passepartout!”

“Monsieur.”

“Go to the Carnatic, and engage three cabins.”

Passepartout, delighted that the young woman, who was very gracious
to him, was going to continue the journey with them, went off at a
brisk gait to obey his master’s order.

CHAPTER XIX

In which Passepartout takes a too great
interest in his master, and what comes of it

H

ONG KONG is an island which came into the possession of the English
by the treaty of Nankin, after the war of 1842; and the colonizing
genius of the English has created upon it an important city and an
excellent port. The island is situated at the mouth of the Canton
River, and is separated by about sixty miles from the Portuguese town
of Macao, on the opposite coast. Hong Kong has beaten Macao in the
struggle for the Chinese trade, and now the greater part of the
transportation of Chinese goods finds its depôt at the former place.
Docks, hospitals, wharves, a Gothic cathedral, a government house,
macadamized streets give to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in
Kent or Surrey transferred by some strange magic to the antipodes.

Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the
Victoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and other
modes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese, and
Europeans who passed to and fro in the streets. Hong Kong seemed to
him not unlike Bombay, Calcutta, and Singapore, since, like them, it
betrayed everywhere the evidence of English supremacy. At the Victoria
port he found a confused mass of ships of all nations, English, French,
American, and Dutch, men-of-war and trading vessels, Japanese and
Chinese junks, sempas, tankas, 114 and flower-boats, which formed so many
floating parterres. Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of the
natives who seemed very old and were dressed in yellow. On going into
a barber’s to get shaved, he learned that these ancient men were all at
least eighty years old, at which age they are permitted to wear yellow,
which is the Imperial colour. Passepartout, without exactly knowing
why, thought this very funny.

On reaching the quay where they were to embark on the Carnatic, he
was not astonished to find Fix walking up and down. The detective
seemed very much disturbed and disappointed.

“This is bad,” muttered Passepartout, “for the gentlemen of the Reform
Club!” He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had not perceived
that gentleman’s chagrin. The detective had, indeed, good reasons to
inveigh against the bad luck which pursued him. The warrant had not
come! It was certainly on the way, but as certainly it could not now
reach Hong Kong for several days; and this being the last English
territory on Mr. Fogg’s route, the robber would escape, unless he
could manage to detain him.

“Well, Monsieur Fix,” said Passepartout, “have you decided to go
on with us as far as America?”

They entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four persons.
The clerk, as he gave them the tickets, informed them that, the
repairs on the Carnatic having been completed, the steamer would
leave that very evening, and not next morning, as had been announced.

“That will suit my master all the better,” said Passepartout. “I will
go and let him know.”

Fix115 now decided to make a bold move; he resolved to tell Passepartout
all. It seemed to be the only possible means of keeping Phileas Fogg
several days longer at Hong Kong. He accordingly invited his
companion into a tavern which caught his eye on the quay. On
entering, they found themselves in a large room handsomely decorated,
at the end of which was a large camp-bed furnished with cushions.
Several persons lay upon this bed in a deep sleep. At the small
tables which were arranged about the room some thirty customers were
drinking English beer, porter, gin, and brandy; smoking, the while,
long red clay pipes stuffed with little balls of opium mingled with
essence of rose. From time to time one of the smokers, overcome with
the narcotic, would slip under the table, whereupon the waiters,
taking him by the head and feet, carried and laid him upon the bed.
The bed already supported twenty of these stupefied sots.

Fix and Passepartout saw that they were in a smoking-house haunted
by those wretched, cadaverous, idiotic creatures, to whom the English
merchants sell every year the miserable drug called opium, to the
amount of one million four hundred thousand pounds—thousands
devoted to one of the most despicable vices which afflict humanity!
The Chinese government has in vain attempted to deal with the evil by
stringent laws. It passed gradually from the rich, to whom it was at
first exclusively reserved, to the lower classes, and then its
ravages could not be arrested. Opium is smoked everywhere, at all
times, by men and women, in the Celestial Empire; and, once accustomed
to it, the victims cannot dispense with it, except by suffering
horrible bodily contortions and agonies. A great smoker can smoke as
many as eight pipes a day; but he dies in five years. It was in one
of these dens that Fix and Passepartout, in search of a friendly
glass, found themselves. Passepartout had no money, but116 willingly
accepted Fix’s invitation in the hope of returning the obligation
at some future time.

They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did ample
justice, whilst Fix observed him with close attention. They chatted
about the journey, and Passepartout was especially merry at the idea
that Fix was going to continue it with them. When the bottles were
empty, however, he rose to go and tell his master of the change in
the time of the sailing of the Carnatic.

Fix caught him by the arm, and said, “Wait a moment.”

“What for, Mr. Fix?”

“I want to have a serious talk with you.”

“A serious talk!” cried Passepartout, drinking up the little wine
that was left in the bottom of his glass. “Well, we’ll talk about it
to-morrow; I haven’t time now.”

“Stay! What I have to say concerns your master.”

Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion. Fix’s
face seemed to have a singular expression. He resumed his seat.

“What is it that you have to say?”

Fix placed his hand upon Passepartout’s arm and, lowering his
voice, said, “You have guessed who I am?”

“Parbleu!” said Passepartout, smiling.

“Then I’m going to tell you everything—”

“Now that I know everything, my friend! Ah! that’s very good. But go
on, go on. First, though, let me tell you that those gentlemen have
put themselves to a useless expense.”

“Useless!” said Fix. “You speak confidently. It’s clear that you
don’t know how large the sum is.”

“Of course I do,” returned Passepartout. “Twenty thousand pounds.”

“Fifty-five thousand!” answered Fix, pressing his companion’s hand.

“What!” 117 cried the Frenchman. “Has Monsieur Fogg dared—fifty-five
thousand pounds! Well, there’s all the more reason for not losing an
instant,” he continued, getting up hastily.

Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed: “Fifty-five
thousand pounds; and if I succeed, I get two thousand pounds. If
you’ll help me, I’ll let you have five hundred of them.”

“Help you?” cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide open.

“Yes; help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days.”

“Why, what are you saying? Those gentlemen are not satisfied with
following my master and suspecting his honour, but they must try to
put obstacles in his way! I blush for them!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might as well
waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!”

“That’s just what we count on doing.”

“It’s a conspiracy, then,” cried Passepartout, who became more and
more excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he drank without
perceiving it. “A real conspiracy! And gentlemen, too. Bah!”

Fix began to be puzzled.

“Members of the Reform Club!” continued Passepartout. “You must
know, Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that, when
he makes a wager, he tries to win it fairly!”

“But who do you think I am?” asked Fix, looking at him intently.

“Parbleu! An agent of the members of the Reform Club, sent out here
to interrupt my master’s journey. But, though I found118 you out some
time ago, I’ve taken good care to say nothing about it to Mr. Fogg.”

“He knows nothing, then?”

“Nothing,” replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass.

The detective passed his hand across his forehead, hesitating before
he spoke again. What should he do? Passepartout’s mistake seemed
sincere, but it made his design more difficult. It was evident that
the servant was not the master’s accomplice, as Fix had been inclined
to suspect.

“Well,” said the detective to himself, “as he is not an accomplice,
he will help me.”

He had no time to lose: Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong, so he
resolved to make a clean breast of it.

“Listen to me,” said Fix abruptly. “I am not, as you think, an agent
of the members of the Reform Club—”

“Bah!” retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery.

“I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office.”

“You, a detective?”

“I will prove it. Here is my commission.”

Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed
this document, the genuineness of which could not be doubted.

“Mr. Fogg’s wager,” resumed Fix, “is only a pretext, of which you
and the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes. He had a motive for
securing your innocent complicity.”

“But why?”

“Listen. On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five
thousand pounds was committed at the Bank of England by a person
whose description was fortunately secured. Here is this description;
it answers exactly to that of Mr. Phileas Fogg.”

“What119 nonsense!” cried Passepartout, striking the table with his
fist. “My master is the most honourable of men!”

“How can you tell? You know scarcely anything about him. You went
into his service the day he came away; and he came away on a foolish
pretext, without trunks, and carrying a large amount in bank-notes.
And yet you are bold enough to assert that he is an honest man!”

“Yes, yes,” repeated the poor fellow, mechanically.

“Would you like to be arrested as his accomplice?”

Passepartout, overcome by what he had heard, held his head between
his hands, and did not dare to look at the detective. Phileas Fogg,
the saviour of Aouda, that brave and generous man, a robber! And yet
how many presumptions there were against him! Passepartout essayed
to reject the suspicions which forced themselves upon his mind; he
did not wish to believe that his master was guilty.

“Well, what do you want of me?” said he, at last, with an effort.

“See here,” replied Fix; “I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this place, but
as yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for which I
sent to London. You must help me to keep him here in Hong Kong—”

“I! But I—”

“I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered by the
Bank of England.”

“Never!” replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back,
exhausted in mind and body.

“Mr. Fix,” he stammered, “even should what you say be true—if my
master is really the robber you are seeking for—which I deny—I
have been, am, in his service; I have seen his generosity and
goodness; and I will never betray him—not for all the gold in the
world. I come from a village where they don’t eat that kind of bread!”

Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects of
the liquor. Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be separated
from his master, wished to entirely overcome him. Some pipes full of
opium lay upon the table. Fix slipped one into Passepartout’s hand.
He took it, put it between his lips, lit it, drew several puffs, and
his head, becoming heavy under the influence of the narcotic, fell
upon the table.

“At last!” said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious. “Mr. Fogg will
not be informed of the Carnatic’s departure; and, if he is, he will
have to go without this cursed Frenchman!”

CHAPTER XX

In which Fix comes face to face with Phileas Fogg

W

HILE these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg,
unconscious of the danger he was in of losing the steamer, was
quietly escorting Aouda about the streets of the English quarter,
making the necessary purchases for the long voyage before them. It
was all very well for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to make the tour
of the world with a carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected to
travel comfortably under such conditions. He acquitted his task with
characteristic serenity, and invariably replied to the remonstrances
of his fair companion, who was confused by his patience and generosity,—

“It is in the interest of my journey—a part of my programme.”

The purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined at
a sumptuously served table-d’hôte; after which Aouda, shaking hands
with her protector after the English fashion, retired to her room for
rest. Mr. Fogg absorbed himself throughout the evening in the perusal
of the Times and Illustrated London News.

Had he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would have
been not to see his servant return at bed-time. But, knowing that the
steamer was not to leave for Yokohama until the next morning, he did
not disturb himself about the matter. When Passepartout did not appear
the next morning, 122 to answer his master’s bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying
the least vexation, contented himself with taking his carpet-bag,
calling Aouda, and sending for a palanquin.

It was then eight o’clock; at half-past nine,5 it being then high
tide, the Carnatic would leave the harbour. Mr. Fogg and Aouda got
into the palanquin, their luggage being brought after on a
wheelbarrow, and half an hour later stepped upon the quay whence they
were to embark. Mr. Fogg then learned that the Carnatic had sailed
the evening before. He had expected to find not only the steamer,
but his domestic, and was forced to give up both; but no sign of
disappointment appeared on his face, and he merely remarked to Aouda,
“It is an accident, madam; nothing more.”

At this moment a man who had been observing him attentively approached.
It was Fix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg: “Were you not, like me,
sir, a passenger by the Rangoon, which arrived yesterday?”

“I was, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg coldly. “But I have not the honour—”

“Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here.”

“Do you know where he is, sir?” asked Aouda anxiously.

“What!” responded Fix, feigning surprise. “Is he not with you?”

“No,” said Aouda. “He has not made his appearance since yesterday.
Could he have gone on board the Carnatic without us?”

“Without you, madam?” answered the detective. “Excuse me, did you
intend to sail in the Carnatic?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So did I, madam, and I am excessively disappointed. The Carnatic,
its repairs being completed, left Hong Kong twelve123 hours before the
stated time, without any notice being given; and we must now wait a
week for another steamer.”

As he said “a week” Fix felt his heart leap for joy. Fogg detained
at Hong Kong for a week! There would be time for the warrant to
arrive, and fortune at last favoured the representative of the law.
His horror may be imagined when he heard Mr. Fogg say, in his placid
voice, “But there are other vessels besides the Carnatic, it seems to
me, in the harbour of Hong Kong.”

And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps toward the
docks in search of some craft about to start. Fix, stupefied,
followed; it seemed as if he were attached to Mr. Fogg by an
invisible thread. Chance, however, appeared really to have abandoned
the man it had hitherto served so well. For three hours Phileas Fogg
wandered about the docks, with the determination, if necessary, to
charter a vessel to carry him to Yokohama; but he could only find
vessels which were loading or unloading, and which could not therefore
set sail. Fix began to hope again.

But Mr. Fogg, far from being discouraged, was continuing his search,
resolved not to stop if he had to resort to Macao, when he was
accosted by a sailor on one of the wharves.

The sailor leaned on the railing, opened his eyes wide, and said,
“Is your honour joking?”

“No. I have missed the Carnatic, and I must get to Yokohama by the
14th at the latest, to take the boat for San Francisco.”

“I am sorry,” said the sailor; “but it is impossible.”

“I offer you a hundred pounds per day, and an additional reward of
two hundred pounds if I reach Yokohama in time.”

“Are you in earnest?”

“Very much so.”

The pilot walked away a little distance, and gazed out to sea,
evidently struggling between the anxiety to gain a large sum and the
fear of venturing so far. Fix was in mortal suspense.

Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her, “You would not be afraid,
would you, madam?”

“Not with you, Mr. Fogg,” was her answer.

The pilot now returned, shuffling his hat in his hands.

“Well, pilot?” said Mr. Fogg.

“Well, your honour,” replied he, “I could not risk myself, my men,
or my little boat of scarcely twenty tons on so long a voyage at this
time of year. Besides, we could not reach Yokohama in time, for it is
sixteen hundred and sixty miles from Hong Kong.”

“Only sixteen hundred,” said Mr. Fogg.

“It’s the same thing.”

Fix breathed more freely.

“But,” added the pilot, “it might be arranged another way.”

Fix ceased to breathe at all.

“How?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“By125 going to Nagasaki, at the extreme south of Japan, or even to
Shanghai, which is only eight hundred miles from here. In going to
Shanghai we should not be forced to sail wide of the Chinese coast,
which would be a great advantage, as the currents run northward, and
would aid us.

“Pilot,” said Mr. Fogg, “I must take the American steamer at
Yokohama, and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki.”

“Why not?” returned the pilot. “The San Francisco steamer does not
start from Yokohama. It puts in at Yokohama and Nagasaki, but it
starts from Shanghai.”

“You are sure of that?”

“Perfectly.”

“And when does the boat leave Shanghai?”

“On the 11th, at seven in the evening. We have, therefore, four days
before us, that is ninety-six hours; and in that time, if we had good
luck and a south-west wind, and the sea was calm, we could make those
eight hundred miles to Shanghai.”

“And you could go—”

“In an hour; as soon as provisions could be got aboard and the sails
put up.”

“It is a bargain. Are you the master of the boat?”

“Yes; John Bunsby, master of the Tankadere.”

“Would you like some earnest-money?”

“If it would not put your honour out—”

“Here are two hundred pounds on account. Sir,” added Phileas Fogg,
turning to Fix, “if you would like to take advantage—”

“Thanks, sir; I was about to ask the favour.”

“Very well. In half an hour we shall go on board.”

“But poor Passepartout?” urged Aouda, who was much disturbed by the
servant’s disappearance.

“I shall do all I can to find him,” replied Phileas Fogg.

While126 Fix, in a feverish, nervous state, repaired to the pilot-boat,
the others directed their course to the police-station at Hong Kong.
Phileas Fogg there gave Passepartout’s description, and left a sum
of money to be spent in the search for him. The same formalities
having been gone through at the French consulate, and the palanquin
having stopped at the hotel for the luggage, which had been sent back
there, they returned to the wharf.

It was now three o’clock; and pilot-boat No. 43, with its crew on
board, and its provisions stored away, was ready for departure.

The Tankadere was a neat little craft of twenty tons, as gracefully
built as if she were a racing yacht. Her shining copper sheathing,
her galvanized iron-work, her deck, white as ivory, betrayed the pride
taken by John Bunsby in making her presentable. Her two masts leaned
a trifle backward; she carried brigantine, foresail, storm-jib, and
standing-jib, and was well rigged for running before the wind; and she
seemed capable of brisk speed, which, indeed, she had already proved
by gaining several prizes in pilot-boat races. The crew of the
Tankadere was composed of John Bunsby, the master, and four hardy
mariners, who were familiar with the Chinese seas. John Bunsby
himself, a man of forty-five or thereabouts, vigorous, sunburnt, with
a sprightly expression of the eye, and energetic and self-reliant
countenance, would have inspired confidence in the most timid.

Phileas Fogg and Aouda went on board, where they found Fix already
installed. Below deck was a square cabin, of which the walls bulged
out in the form of cots, above a circular divan; in the centre was a
table provided with a swinging lamp. The accommodation was confined,
but neat.

“I am sorry to have nothing better to offer you,” said Mr. Fogg to
Fix, who bowed without responding.

The127 detective had a feeling akin to humiliation in profiting by the
kindness of Mr. Fogg.

“It’s certain,” thought he, “though rascal as he is, he is a polite
one!”

The sails and the English flag were hoisted at ten minutes past three.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda, who were seated on deck, cast a last glance at
the quay, in the hope of espying Passepartout. Fix was not without
his fears lest chance should direct the steps of the unfortunate
servant, whom he had so badly treated, in this direction; in which
case an explanation the reverse of satisfactory to the detective must
have ensued. But the Frenchman did not appear, and, without doubt,
was still lying under the stupefying influence of the opium.

John Bunsby, master, at length gave the order to start, and the
Tankadere, taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail, and
standing-jib, bounded briskly forward over the waves.

CHAPTER XXI

In which the master of the “Tankadere” runs great
risk of losing a reward of two hundred pounds

T

HIS voyage of eight hundred miles was a perilous venture, on a craft
of twenty tons, and at that season of the year. The Chinese seas are
usually boisterous, subject to terrible gales of wind, and especially
during the equinoxes; and it was now early November.

It would clearly have been to the master’s advantage to carry his
passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day; but
he would have been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it was
imprudent even to attempt to reach Shanghai. But John Bunsby believed
in the Tankadere, which rode on the waves like a sea-gull; and perhaps
he was not wrong.

Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels of Hong
Kong, and the Tankadere, impelled by favourable winds, conducted
herself admirably.

“I do not need, pilot,” said Phileas Fogg, when they got into the
open sea, “to advise you to use all possible speed.”

“Trust me, your honour. We are carrying all the sail the wind will
let us. The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we are
going into port.”

“It’s your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you.”

Phileas Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart, standing like a
sailor, gazed without staggering at the swelling129 waters. The young
woman, who was seated aft, was profoundly affected as she looked out
upon the ocean, darkening now with the twilight, on which she had
ventured in so frail a vessel. Above her head rustled the white sails,
which seemed like great white wings. The boat, carried forward by the
wind, seemed to be flying in the air.

Night came. The moon was entering her first quarter, and her
insufficient light would soon die out in the mist on the horizon.
Clouds were rising from the east, and already overcast a part of the
heavens.

The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in these
seas crowded with vessels bound landward; for collisions are not
uncommon occurrences, and, at the speed she was going, the least
shock would shatter the gallant little craft.

Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation. He kept apart
from his fellow-travellers, knowing Mr. Fogg’s taciturn tastes;
besides, he did not quite like to talk to the man whose favours he
had accepted. He was thinking, too, of the future. It seemed certain
that Fogg would not stop at Yokohama, but would at once take the boat
for San Francisco; and the vast extent of America would ensure him
impunity and safety. Fogg’s plan appeared to him the simplest in the
world. Instead of sailing directly from England to the United States,
like a common villain, he had traversed three quarters of the globe,
so as to gain the American continent more surely; and there, after
throwing the police off his track, he would quietly enjoy himself with
the fortune stolen from the bank. But, once in the United States, what
should he, Fix, do? Should he abandon this man? No, a hundred times no!
Until he had secured his extradition, he would not lose sight of him
for an hour. It was his duty, and he would fulfil it to the end. At
all events, there was one thing to be thankful for: Passepartout
was not with130 his master; and it was above all important, after the
confidences Fix had imparted to him, that the servant should never
have speech with his master.

Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so strangely
disappeared. Looking at the matter from every point of view, it did
not seem to him impossible that, by some mistake, the man might have
embarked on the Carnatic at the last moment; and this was also
Aouda’s opinion, who regretted very much the loss of the worthy
fellow to whom she owed so much. They might then find him at
Yokohama; for if the Carnatic was carrying him thither, it would be
easy to ascertain if he had been on board.

A brisk breeze arose about ten o’clock; but, though it might have
been prudent to take in a reef, the pilot, after carefully examining
the heavens, let the craft remain rigged as before. The Tankadere bore
sail admirably, as she drew a great deal of water, and everything was
prepared for high speed in case of a gale.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda descended into the cabin at midnight, having been
already preceded by Fix, who had lain down on one of the cots. The
pilot and crew remained on deck all night.

At sunrise the next day, which was November 8th, the boat had made
more than one hundred miles. The log indicated a mean speed of
between eight and nine miles. The Tankadere still carried all sail,
and was accomplishing her greatest capacity of speed. If the wind
held as it was, the chances would be in her favour. During the day
she kept along the coast, where the currents were favourable; the
coast, irregular in profile, and visible sometimes across the
clearings, was at most five miles distant. The sea was less
boisterous, since the wind came off land—a fortunate circumstance
for the boat, which would suffer, owing to its small tonnage, by a
heavy surge on the sea.

The131 breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from the
south-west. The pilot put up his poles, but took them down again
within two hours, as the wind freshened up anew.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the sea,
ate with a good appetite, Fix being invited to share their repast,
which he accepted with secret chagrin. To travel at this man’s
expense and live upon his provisions was not palatable to him.
Still, he was obliged to eat, and so he ate.

When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said, “Sir,”—this
“sir” scorched his lips, and he had to control himself to avoid
collaring this “gentleman,”—“sir, you have been very kind to give me
a passage on this boat. But, though my means will not admit of my
expending them as freely as you, I must ask to pay my share—”

“Let us not speak of that, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“But, if I insist—”

“No, sir,” repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of a
reply. “This enters into my general expenses.”

Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and going forward, where
he ensconced himself, did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.

Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was in
high hope. He several times assured Mr. Fogg that they would reach
Shanghai in time; to which that gentleman responded that he counted
upon it. The crew set to work in good earnest, inspired by the reward
to be gained. There was not a sheet which was not tightened, not a
sail which was not vigorously hoisted; not a lurch could be charged
to the man at the helm. They worked as desperately as if they were
contesting in a Royal Yacht regatta.

By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had
been accomplished from Hong Kong, and Mr. 132 Fogg might hope that he
would be able to reach Yokohama without recording any delay in his
journal; in which case, the only misadventure which had overtaken
him since he left London would not seriously affect his journey.

The Tankadere entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which separate the
island of Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours of the
night, and crossed the Tropic of Cancer. The sea was very rough in
the straits, full of eddies formed by the counter-currents, and the
chopping waves broke her course, whilst it became very difficult to
stand on deck.

At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens
seemed to predict a gale. The barometer announced a speedy change,
the mercury rising and falling capriciously; the sea also, in the
south-east, raised long surges which indicated a tempest. The sun
had set the evening before in a red mist, in the midst of the
phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.

John Bunsby long examined the threatening aspect of the heavens,
muttering indistinctly between his teeth. At last he said in a low
voice to Mr. Fogg, “Shall I speak out to your honour?”

“Of course.”

“Well, we are going to have a squall.”

“Is the wind north or south?” asked Mr. Fogg quietly.

“South. Look! a typhoon is coming up.”

“Glad it’s a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us forward.”

“Oh, if you take it that way,” said John Bunsby, “I’ve nothing more
to say.” John Bunsby’s suspicions were confirmed. At a less advanced
season of the year the typhoon, according to a famous meteorologist,
would have passed away like a luminous cascade of electric flame; but
in the winter equinox, it was to be feared that it would burst upon
them with great violence.

The133 pilot took his precautions in advance. He reefed all sail, the
pole-masts were dispensed with; all hands went forward to the bows. A
single triangular sail, of strong canvas, was hoisted as a storm-jib,
so as to hold the wind from behind. Then they waited.

John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below; but this
imprisonment in so narrow a space, with little air, and the boat
bouncing in the gale, was far from pleasant. Neither Mr. Fogg, Fix,
nor Aouda consented to leave the deck.

The storm of rain and wind descended upon them towards eight o’clock.
With but its bit of sail, the Tankadere was lifted like a feather by
a wind an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given. To compare
her speed to four times that of a locomotive going on full steam
would be below the truth.

The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day, borne on by
monstrous waves, preserving always, fortunately, a speed equal to
theirs. Twenty times she seemed almost to be submerged by these
mountains of water which rose behind her; but the adroit management
of the pilot saved her. The passengers were often bathed in spray,
but they submitted to it philosophically. Fix cursed it, no doubt;
but Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon her protector, whose coolness
amazed her, showed herself worthy of him, and bravely weathered the
storm. As for Phileas Fogg, it seemed just as if the typhoon were a
part of his programme.

Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her course to the
north; but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters, bore
down from the north-west. The boat, now lying in the trough of the
waves, shook and rolled terribly; the sea struck her with fearful
violence. At night the tempest increased in violence. John Bunsby
saw the approach of darkness and the rising of the storm with dark
misgivings. He thought awhile, and then asked his crew if it was not
time to134 slacken speed. After a consultation he approached Mr. Fogg,
and said, “I think, your honour, that we should do well to make for
one of the ports on the coast.”

“I think so too.”

“Ah!” said the pilot. “But which one?”

“I know of but one,” returned Mr. Fogg tranquilly.

“And that is—”

“Shanghai.”

The pilot, at first, did not seem to comprehend; he could scarcely
realize so much determination and tenacity. Then he cried, “Well—yes!
Your honour is right. To Shanghai!”

So the Tankadere kept steadily on her northward track.

The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if the craft
did not founder. Twice it would have been all over with her, if the
crew had not been constantly on the watch. Aouda was exhausted, but
did not utter a complaint. More than once Mr. Fogg rushed to protect
her from the violence of the waves.

Day reappeared. The tempest still raged with undiminished fury; but the
wind now returned to the south-east. It was a favourable change, and
the Tankadere again bounded forward on this mountainous sea, though
the waves crossed each other, and imparted shocks and counter-shocks
which would have crushed a craft less solidly built. From time to time
the coast was visible through the broken mist, but no vessel was in
sight. The Tankadere was alone upon the sea.

There were some signs of a calm at noon, and these became more
distinct as the sun descended toward the horizon. The tempest had
been as brief as terrific. The passengers, thoroughly exhausted,
could now eat a little, and take some repose.

The night was comparatively quiet. Some of the sails were again
hoisted, and the speed of the boat was very good. The135 next morning at
dawn they espied the coast, and John Bunsby was able to assert that
they were not one hundred miles from Shanghai. A hundred miles, and
only one day to traverse them! That very evening Mr. Fogg was due at
Shanghai, if he did not wish to miss the steamer to Yokohama. Had
there been no storm, during which several hours were lost, they would
be at this moment within thirty miles of their destination.

The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the sea fell with it.
All sails were now hoisted, and at noon the Tankadere was within
forty-five miles of Shanghai. There remained yet six hours in which
to accomplish that distance. All on board feared that it could not be
done; and every one—Phileas Fogg, no doubt, excepted—felt his heart
beat with impatience. The boat must keep up an average of nine 6 miles
an hour, and the wind was becoming calmer every moment! It was a
capricious breeze, coming from the coast, and after it passed the sea
became smooth. Still, the Tankadere was so light, and her fine sails
caught the fickle zephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the current,
John Bunsby found himself at six o’clock not more than ten miles from
the mouth of Shanghai River. Shanghai itself is situated at least
twelve miles up the stream. At seven they were still three miles from
Shanghai. The pilot swore an angry oath; the reward of two hundred
pounds was evidently on the point of escaping him. He looked at Mr.
Fogg. Mr. Fogg was perfectly tranquil; and yet his whole fortune was
at this moment at stake.

At this moment, also, a long black funnel, crowned with wreaths of
smoke, appeared on the edge of the waters. It was the136 American
steamer, leaving for Yokohama at the appointed time.

“Confound her!” cried John Bunsby, pushing back the rudder with a
desperate jerk.

“Signal her!” said Phileas Fogg quietly.

A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the Tankadere, for
making signals in the fogs. It was loaded to the muzzle; but just as
the pilot was about to apply a red-hot coal to the touchhole, Mr.
Fogg said, “Hoist your flag!”

The flag was run up at half-mast, and, this being the signal of
distress, it was hoped that the American steamer, perceiving it,
would change her course a little, so as to succour the pilot-boat.

“Fire!” said Mr. Fogg. And the booming of the little cannon
resounded in the air.

CHAPTER XXII

In which Passepartout finds out that, even at
the antipodes, it is convenient to have some
money in one’s pocket

T

HE Carnatic, setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the
6th 7 of November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan.
She carried a large cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers.
Two state-rooms in the rear were, however, unoccupied,—those which
had been engaged by Phileas Fogg.

The next day a passenger, with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait,
and disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin, and to
totter to a seat on deck.

It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows:—Shortly
after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted the
unconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the bed reserved for
the smokers. Three hours later, pursued even in his dreams by a fixed
idea, the poor fellow awoke, and struggled against the stupefying
influence of the narcotic. The thought of a duty unfulfilled shook off
his torpor, and he hurried from the abode of drunkenness. Staggering
and holding himself up by keeping against the walls, falling down and
creeping138 up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of instinct,
he kept crying out, “The Carnatic! the Carnatic!”

The steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of starting.
Passepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing upon the plank,
he crossed it, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the Carnatic
was moving off. Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to
this sort of scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second
cabin, and Passepartout did not wake until they were one hundred and
fifty miles away from China. Thus he found himself the next morning
on the deck of the Carnatic, and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating
sea-breeze. The pure air sobered him. He began to collect his senses,
which he found a difficult task; but at last he recalled the events
of the evening before, Fix’s revelation, and the opium-house.

“It is evident,” said he to himself, “that I have been abominably
drunk! What will Mr. Fogg say? At least I have not missed the steamer,
which is the most important thing.”

Then, as Fix occurred to him:—“As for that rascal, I hope we are
well rid of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed, to follow
us on board the Carnatic. A detective on the track of Mr. Fogg,
accused of robbing the Bank of England! Pshaw! Mr. Fogg is no more a
robber than I am a murderer.”

Should he divulge Fix’s real errand to his master? Would it do to
tell the part the detective was playing? Would it not be better to
wait until Mr. Fogg reached London again, and then impart to him that
an agent of the metropolitan police had been following him round the
world, and have a good laugh over it? No doubt; at least, it was worth
considering. The first thing to do was to find Mr. Fogg, and apologize
for his singular behaviour.

Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could with the
rolling of the steamer, to the after-deck. He saw no one139 who
resembled either his master or Aouda. “Good!” muttered he; “Aouda has
not got up yet, and Mr. Fogg has probably found some partners at
whist.”

He descended to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there. Passepartout had
only, however, to ask the purser the number of his master’s state-room.
The purser replied that he did not know any passenger by the name of
Fogg.

“I beg your pardon,” said Passepartout persistently. “He is a tall
gentleman, quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a young
lady—”

“There is no young lady on board,” interrupted the purser. “Here is
a list of the passengers; you may see for yourself.”

Passepartout scanned the list, but his master’s name was not upon
it. All at once an idea struck him.

“Ah! am I on the Carnatic?”

“Yes.”

“On the way to Yokohama?”

“Certainly.”

Passepartout had for an instant feared that he was on the wrong
boat; but, though he was really on the Carnatic, his master was not
there.

He fell thunderstruck on a seat. He saw it all now. He remembered that
the time of sailing had been changed, that he should have informed his
master of that fact, and that he had not done so. It was his fault,
then, that Mr. Fogg and Aouda had missed the steamer. Yes, but it was
still more the fault of the traitor who, in order to separate him from
his master, and detain the latter at Hong Kong, had inveigled him into
getting drunk! He now saw the detective’s trick; and at this moment
Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined, his bet was lost, and he himself
perhaps arrested and imprisoned! At this thought Passepartout tore his
hair. Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what a settling of accounts
there would be!

After140 his first depression, Passepartout became calmer, and began to
study his situation. It was certainly not an enviable one. He found
himself on the way to Japan, and what should he do when he got there?
His pocket was empty; he had not a solitary shilling—not so much as a
penny. His passage had fortunately been paid for in advance; and he had
five or six days in which to decide upon his future course. He fell to
at meals with an appetite, and ate for Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and himself.
He helped himself as generously as if Japan were a desert, where
nothing to eat was to be looked for.

At dawn on the 13th the Carnatic entered the port of Yokohama.
This is an important way-station in the Pacific, where all the mail-steamers,
and those carrying travellers between North America, China, Japan, and
the Oriental islands put in. It is situated in the bay of Yeddo, and at
but a short distance from that second capital of the Japanese Empire,
and the residence of the Tycoon, the civil Emperor, before the Mikado,
the spiritual Emperor, absorbed his office in his own. The Carnatic
anchored at the quay near the custom-house, in the midst of a crowd
of ships bearing the flags of all nations.

Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious territory of the
Sons of the Sun. He had nothing better to do than, taking chance for
his guide, to wander aimlessly through the streets of Yokohama. He
found himself at first in a thoroughly European quarter, the houses
having low fronts, and being adorned with verandas, beneath which he
caught glimpses of neat peristyles. This quarter occupied, with its
streets, squares, docks and warehouses, all the space between the
“promontory of the Treaty” and the river. Here, as at Hong Kong and
Calcutta, were mixed crowds of all races,—Americans and English,
Chinamen and Dutchmen, mostly merchants ready to buy or sell
anything. The Frenchman felt himself141 as much alone among them as
if he had dropped down in the midst of Hottentots.

He had, at least, one resource,—to call on the French and English
consuls at Yokohama for assistance. But he shrank from telling the
story of his adventures, intimately connected as it was with that of
his master; and, before doing so, he determined to exhaust all other
means of aid. As chance did not favour him in the European quarter,
he penetrated that inhabited by the native Japanese, determined, if
necessary, to push on to Yeddo.

The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the goddess
of the sea, who is worshipped on the islands round about. There
Passepartout beheld beautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred gates of
a singular architecture, bridges half hid in the midst of bamboos and
reeds, temples shaded by immense cedar-trees, holy retreats where were
sheltered Buddhist priests and sectaries of Confucius, and interminable
streets, where a perfect harvest of rose-tinted and red-cheeked
children, who looked as if they had been cut out of Japanese screens,
and who were playing in the midst of short-legged poodles and yellowish
cats, might have been gathered.

The streets were crowded with people. Priests were passing in
processions, beating their dreary tambourines; police and custom-house
officers with pointed hats encrusted with lac, and carrying two sabres
hung to their waists; soldiers, clad in blue cotton with white stripes,
and bearing guns; the Mikado’s guards, enveloped in silken doublets,
hauberks, and coats of mail; and numbers of military folk of all
ranks—for the military profession is as much respected in Japan
as it is despised in China—went hither and thither in groups and
pairs. Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-robed142 pilgrims,
and simple civilians, with their sleek 8 and jet-black hair, big heads,
long busts, slender legs, short stature, and complexions varying from
copper-colour to a dead white, but never yellow, like the Chinese,
from whom the Japanese widely differ. He did not fail to observe the
curious equipages,—carriages and palanquins, barrows supplied with
sails, and litters made of bamboo; nor the women—whom he thought not
especially handsome,—who took little steps with their little feet,
whereon they wore canvas shoes, straw sandals, and clogs of worked
wood, and who displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests, teeth
fashionably blackened, and gowns crossed with silken scarfs, tied in
an enormous knot behind,—an ornament which the modern Parisian ladies
seem to have borrowed from the dames of Japan.

Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this motley
crowd, looking in at the windows of the rich and curious shops, the
jewellery establishments glittering with quaint Japanese ornaments,
the restaurants decked with streamers and banners, the tea-houses,
where the odorous beverage was being drunk with saki, a liquor
concocted from the fermentation of rice, and the comfortable
smoking-houses, where they were puffing, not opium, which is almost
unknown in Japan, but a very fine, stringy tobacco. He went on till
he found himself in the fields, in the midst of vast rice plantations.
There he saw dazzling camellias expanding themselves, with flowers
which were giving forth their last colours and perfumes, not on
bushes, but on trees; and within bamboo enclosures, cherry, plum,
and apple trees, which the Japanese143 cultivate rather for their
blossoms than their fruit, and which queerly fashioned, grinning
scarecrows protected from the sparrows, pigeons, ravens, and other
voracious birds. On the branches of the cedars were perched large
eagles; amid the foliage of the weeping willows were herons, solemnly
standing on one leg; and on every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild
birds, and a multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider sacred,
and which to their minds symbolize long life and prosperity.

As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some violets among
the shrubs.

“Good!” said he; “I’ll have some supper.”

But, on smelling them, he found that they were odourless.

“No chance there,” thought he.

The worthy fellow had certainly taken good care to eat as hearty a
breakfast as possible before leaving the Carnatic; but as he had
been walking about all day, the demands of hunger were becoming
importunate. He observed that the butchers’ stalls contained neither
mutton, goat, nor pork; and knowing also that it is a sacrilege to
kill cattle, which are preserved solely for farming, he made up his
mind that meat was far from plentiful in Yokohama,—nor was he
mistaken; and in default of butcher’s meat, he could have wished for
a quarter of wild boar or deer, a partridge, or some quails, some
game or fish, which, with rice, the Japanese eat almost exclusively.
But he found it necessary to keep up a stout heart, and to postpone
the meal he craved till the following morning. Night came, and
Passepartout re-entered the native quarter, where he wandered through
the streets, lit by vari-coloured lanterns, looking on at the
dancers who were executing skilful steps and boundings, and the
astrologers who stood in the open air with their telescopes. Then he
came144 to the harbour, which was lit up by the resin torches of the
fishermen, who were fishing from their boats.

The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers of
which, in their splendid costumes, and surrounded by their suites,
Passepartout thought seemed like ambassadors, succeeded the bustling
crowd. Each time a company passed, Passepartout chuckled, and said to
himself, “Good! another Japanese embassy departing for Europe!”

CHAPTER XXIII

In which Passepartout’s nose becomes outrageously long

T

HE next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to himself
that he must get something to eat at all hazards, and the sooner he
did so the better. He might, indeed, sell his watch; but he would
have starved first. Now or never he must use the strong, if not
melodious voice which nature had bestowed upon him. He knew several
French and English songs, and resolved to try them upon the Japanese,
who must be lovers of music, since they were for ever pounding on
their cymbals, tam-tams, and tambourines, and could not but appreciate
European talent.

It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert,
and the audience, prematurely aroused from their slumbers, might not,
possibly, pay their entertainer with coin bearing the Mikado’s
features. Passepartout therefore decided to wait several hours; and,
as he was sauntering along, it occurred to him that he would seem
rather too well dressed for a wandering artist. The idea struck him
to change his garments for clothes more in harmony with his project;
by which he might also get a little money to satisfy the immediate
cravings of hunger. The resolution taken, it remained to carry it out.

It was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a native
dealer in old clothes, to whom he applied for an exchange. The man
liked the European costume, and ere146 long Passepartout issued from his
shop accoutred in an old Japanese coat, and a sort of one-sided turban,
faded with long use. A few small pieces of silver, moreover, jingled
in his pocket.

Good!” thought he. “I will imagine I am at the Carnival!”

His first care, after being thus “Japanesed,” was to enter a tea-house
of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little rice, to
breakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a problem to be solved.

“Now,” thought he, when he had eaten heartily, “I mustn’t lose my
head. I can’t sell this costume again for one still more Japanese. I
must consider how to leave this country of the Sun, of which I shall
not retain the most delightful of memories, as quickly as possible.”

It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to leave
for America. He would offer himself as a cook or servant, in payment
of his passage and meals. Once at San Francisco, he would find some
means of going on. The difficulty was, how to traverse the four
thousand seven hundred miles of the Pacific which lay between Japan
and the New World.

Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging, and directed
his steps towards the docks. But, as he approached them, his project,
which at first had seemed so simple, began to grow more and more
formidable to his mind. What need would they have of a cook or
servant on an American steamer, and what confidence would they put in
him, dressed as he was? What references could he give?

As he was reflecting in this wise, his eyes fell upon an immense
placard which a sort of clown was carrying through the streets.
This placard, which was in English, read as follows:—

He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more in the
Japanese quarter. A quarter of an hour later he stopped before a
large cabin, adorned with several clusters of streamers, the exterior
walls of which were designed to represent, in violent colours and
without perspective, a company of jugglers.

This was the Honourable William Batulcar’s establishment. That
gentleman was a sort of Barnum, the director of a troupe of
mountebanks, jugglers, clowns, acrobats, equilibrists, and gymnasts,
who, according to the placard, was giving his last performances
before leaving the Empire of the Sun for the States of the Union.

Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who straightway
appeared in person.

“What do you want?” said he to Passepartout, whom he at first took
for a native.

“Would you like a servant, sir?” asked Passepartout.

“A servant!” cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick gray beard
which hung from his chin. “I already have two who are obedient and
faithful, have never left me, and serve me for their148 nourishment,—and
here they are,” added he, holding out his two robust arms, furrowed
with veins as large as the strings of a bass-viol.

“So I can be of no use to you?”

“None.”

“The devil! I should so like to cross the Pacific with you!”

“Ah!” said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar. “You are no more a Japanese
than I am a monkey! Why are you dressed up in that way?”

“A man dresses as he can.”

“That’s true. You are a Frenchman, aren’t you?”

“Yes; a Parisian of Paris.”

“Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?”

“Why,” replied Passepartout, a little vexed that his nationality
should cause this question, “we Frenchmen know how to make grimaces,
it is true,—but not any better than the Americans do.”

“True. Well, if I can’t take you as a servant, I can as a clown.
You see, my friend, in France they exhibit foreign clowns, and in
foreign parts French clowns.”

“Ah!”

“You are pretty strong, eh?”

“Especially after a good meal.”

“And you can sing?”

“Yes,” returned Passepartout, who had formerly been wont to sing in
the streets.

“But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning on your
left foot, and a sabre balanced on your right?”

“Humph! I think so,” replied Passepartout, recalling the exercises
of his younger days.

“Well, that’s enough,” said the Honourable William Batulcar.

The engagement was concluded there and then.

Passepartout had at last found something to do. He was engaged149 to
act in the celebrated Japanese troupe. It was not a very dignified
position, but within a week he would be on his way to San Francisco.

The performance, so noisily announced by the Honourable Mr.
Batulcar, was to commence at three o’clock, and soon the deafening
instruments of a Japanese orchestra resounded at the door.
Passepartout, though he had not been able to study or rehearse a
part, was designated to lend the aid of his sturdy shoulders in the
great exhibition of the “human pyramid,” executed by the Long Noses
of the god Tingou. This “great attraction” was to close the performance.

Before three o’clock the large shed was invaded by the spectators,
comprising Europeans and natives, Chinese and Japanese, men, women,
and children, who precipitated themselves upon the narrow benches and
into the boxes opposite the stage. The musicians took up a position
inside, and were vigorously performing on their gongs, tam-tams,
flutes, bones, tambourines, and immense drums.

The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it must be
confessed that the Japanese are the first equilibrists in the world.

One, with a fan and some bits of paper, performed the graceful trick
of the butterflies and the flowers; another traced in the air, with
the odorous smoke of his pipe, a series of blue words, which composed
a compliment to the audience; while a third juggled with some lighted
candles, which he extinguished successively as they passed his lips,
and relit again without interrupting for an instant his juggling.
Another reproduced the most singular combinations with a spinning-top;
in his hands the revolving tops seemed to be animated with a life of
their own in their interminable whirling; they ran over pipe-stems,
the edges of sabres, wires, and even hairs stretched across the
stage; they turned around on the edges of large glasses, crossed
bamboo ladders, 150 dispersed into all the corners, and produced strange
musical effects by the combination of their various pitches of tone.
The jugglers tossed them in the air, threw them like shuttlecocks
with wooden battledores, and yet they kept on spinning; they put them
into their pockets, and took them out still whirling as before.

It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the
acrobats and gymnasts. The turning on ladders, poles, balls, barrels,
&c., was executed with wonderful precision.

But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses, a
show to which Europe is as yet a stranger.

The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct patronage
of the god Tingou. Attired after the fashion of the Middle Ages, they
bore upon their shoulders a splendid pair of wings; but what
especially distinguished them was the long noses which were fastened
to their faces, and the uses which they made of them. These noses were
made of bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feet long, some
straight, others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation
warts upon them. It was upon these appendages, fixed tightly on their
real noses, that they performed their gymnastic exercises. A dozen of
these sectaries of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while others,
dressed to represent lightning-rods, came and frolicked on their
noses, jumping from one to another, and performing the most skilful
leapings and somersaults.

As a last scene, a “human pyramid” had been announced, in which fifty
Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut. But, instead of
forming a pyramid by mounting each other’s shoulders, the artists were
to group themselves on top of the noses. It happened that the performer
who had hitherto formed the base of the Car had quitted the troupe, and
as, to fill this part, only strength and adroitness were necessary,
Passepartout had been chosen to take his place.

The151 poor fellow really felt sad when—melancholy reminiscence of his
youth!—he donned his costume, adorned with vari-coloured wings, and
fastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long. But he
cheered up when he thought that this nose was winning him something
to eat.

He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest who were
to compose the base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all stretched
themselves on the floor, their noses pointing to the ceiling. A second
group of artists disposed themselves on these long appendages, then a
third above these, then a fourth, until a human monument reaching to
the very cornices of the theatre soon arose on top of the noses. This
elicited loud applause, in the midst of which the orchestra was just
striking up a deafening air, when the pyramid tottered, the balance
was lost, one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and the
human monument was shattered like a castle built of cards!

It was Passepartout’s fault. Abandoning his position, clearing the
footlights without the aid of his wings, and clambering up to the
right-hand gallery, he fell at the feet of one of the spectators,
crying, “Ah, my master! my master!”

“You here?”

“Myself.”

“Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!”

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby of the
theatre to the outside, where they encountered the Honourable Mr.
Batulcar, furious with rage. He demanded damages for the “breakage”
of the pyramid; and Phileas Fogg appeased him by giving him a handful
of bank-notes.

At half-past six, the very hour of departure, Mr. Fogg and Aouda,
followed by Passepartout, who in his hurry had retained his wings,
and nose six feet long, stepped upon the American steamer.

CHAPTER XXIV

During which Mr. Fogg and party cross the Pacific Ocean

W

HAT happened when the pilot-boat came in sight of Shanghai will be
easily guessed. The signals made by the Tankadere had been seen by
the captain of the Yokohama steamer, who, espying the flag at
half-mast, had directed his course towards the little craft.
Phileas Fogg, after paying the stipulated price of his passage to
John Bunsby, and rewarding that worthy with the additional sum of five
hundred and fifty pounds, ascended the steamer with Aouda and Fix;
and they started at once for Nagasaki and Yokohama.

They reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of
November. Phileas Fogg lost no time in going on board the Carnatic, where he
learned, to Aouda’s great delight—and perhaps to his own, though he
betrayed no emotion—that Passepartout, a Frenchman, had really
arrived on her the day before.

The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very evening,
and it became necessary to find Passepartout, if possible, without delay.
Mr. Fogg applied in vain to the French and English consuls, and,
after wandering through the streets a long time, began to despair of
finding his missing servant. Chance, or perhaps a kind of
presentiment, at last led him into the Honourable Mr. Batulcar’s
theatre. He certainly would not have recognized Passepartout in the
eccentric153 mountebank’s costume; but the latter, lying on his back,
perceived his master in the gallery. He could not help starting, which
so changed the position of his nose as to bring the “pyramid”
pell-mell upon the stage.

All this Passepartout learned from Aouda, who recounted to him what
had taken place on the voyage from Hong Kong to Shanghai on the
Tankadere, in company with one Mr. Fix.

Passepartout did not change countenance on hearing this name.
He thought that the time had not yet arrived to divulge to his
master what had taken place between the detective and himself; and
in the account he gave of his absence, he simply excused himself for
having been overtaken by drunkenness, in smoking opium at a tavern in
Hong Kong.

Mr. Fogg heard this narrative coldly, without a word; and then
furnished his man with funds necessary to obtain clothing more in
harmony with his position. Within an hour the Frenchman had cut off
his nose and parted with his wings, and retained nothing about him
which recalled the sectary of the god Tingou.

The steamer which was about to depart from Yokohama to San Francisco
belonged to the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, and was named the
General Grant. She was a large paddle-wheel steamer of
two thousand five hundred tons, well equipped and very fast. The massive
walking-beam rose and fell above the deck; at one end a piston-rod worked
up and down; and at the other was a connecting-rod which, in changing the
rectilinear motion to a circular one, was directly connected with the
shaft of the paddles. The General Grant was rigged with
three masts, giving a large capacity for sails, and thus materially
aiding the steam power. By making twelve miles an hour, she would cross
the ocean in twenty-one days. Phileas Fogg was therefore justified in
hoping that he would reach San Francisco by the 2nd of December, New
York by the 11th, and London on the 20th154—thus gaining several
hours on the fatal date of the 21st of December.

There was a full complement of passengers on board, among them
English, many Americans, a large number of Coolies on their way to
California, and several East Indian officers, who were spending their
vacation in making the tour of the world. Nothing of moment happened
on the voyage; the steamer, sustained on its large paddles, rolled
but little, and the “Pacific” almost justified its name. Mr. Fogg was
as calm and taciturn as ever. His young companion felt herself more
and more attached to him by other ties than gratitude; his silent but
generous nature impressed her more than she thought; and it was
almost unconsciously that she yielded to emotions which did not seem
to have the least effect upon her protector. Aouda took the keenest
interest in his plans, and became impatient at any incident which
seemed likely to retard his journey.

She often chatted with Passepartout, who did not fail to perceive
the state of the lady’s heart; and, being the most faithful of
domestics, he never exhausted his eulogies of Phileas Fogg’s honesty,
generosity, and devotion. He took pains to calm Aouda’s doubts of a
successful termination of the journey, telling her that the most
difficult part of it had passed, that now they were beyond the
fantastic countries of Japan and China, and were fairly on their way
to civilized places again. A railway train from San Francisco to New
York, and a transatlantic steamer from New York to Liverpool, would
doubtless bring them to the end of this impossible journey round the
world within the period agreed upon.

On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had traversed
exactly one half of the terrestrial globe. The General Grant passed,
on the 23rd of November, the one hundred and eightieth meridian, and
was at the very antipodes155 of London. Mr. Fogg had, it is true,
exhausted fifty-two of the eighty days in which he was to complete
the tour, and there were only twenty-eight left. But, though he was
only half-way by the difference of meridians, he had really gone over
two-thirds of the whole journey; for he had been obliged to make long
circuits from London to Aden, from Aden to Bombay, from Calcutta to
Singapore, and from Singapore to Yokohama. Could he have followed
without deviation the fiftieth parallel, which is that of London, the
whole distance would only have been about twelve thousand miles;
whereas he would be forced, by the irregular methods of locomotion,
to traverse twenty-six thousand, of which he had, on the 23rd of
November, accomplished seventeen thousand five hundred. And now the
course was a straight one, and Fix was no longer there to put
obstacles in their way!

It happened also, on the 23rd of November, that Passepartout made a
joyful discovery. It will be remembered that the obstinate fellow had
insisted on keeping his famous family watch at London time, and on
regarding that of the countries he had passed through as quite false
and unreliable. Now, on this day, though he had not changed the
hands, he found that his watch exactly agreed with the ship’s
chronometers. His triumph was hilarious. He would have liked to know
what Fix would say if he were aboard!

“The rogue told me a lot of stories,” repeated Passepartout,
“about the meridians, the sun, and the moon! Moon, indeed!
moonshine more likely! If one listened to that sort of people, a
pretty sort of time one would keep! I was sure that the sun would
some day regulate itself by my watch!”

Passepartout was ignorant that, if the face of his watch had been
divided into twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, he would
have no reason for exultation; for the hands of156 his watch would then,
instead of as now indicating nine o’clock in the morning, indicate
nine o’clock in the evening, that is the twenty-first hour after
midnight,—precisely the difference between London time and that of the
one hundred and eightieth meridian. But if Fix had been able to
explain this purely physical effect, Passepartout would not have
admitted, even if he had comprehended it. Moreover, if the detective
had been on board at that moment, Passepartout would have joined
issue with him on a quite different subject, and in an entirely
different manner.

Where was Fix at that moment?

He was actually on board the General Grant.

On reaching Yokohama, the detective, leaving Mr. Fogg, whom he
expected to meet again during the day, had repaired at once to the
English consulate, where he at last found the warrant of arrest. It
had followed him from Bombay, and had come by the Carnatic, on which
steamer he himself was supposed to be. Fix’s disappointment may
be imagined when he reflected that the warrant was now useless. Mr.
Fogg had left English ground, and it was now necessary to procure his
extradition!

“Well,” thought Fix, after a moment of anger, “my
warrant is not good here, but it will be in England. The rogue evidently
intends to return to his own country, thinking he has thrown the police
off his track. Good! I will follow him across the Atlantic. As for the
money, Heaven grant there may be some left! But the fellow has already
spent in travelling, rewards, trials, bail, elephants, and all sorts of
charges, more than five thousand pounds. Yet, after all, the Bank is
rich!”

His course decided on, he went on board the General Grant, and was
there when Mr. Fogg and Aouda arrived. To his utter amazement, he
recognized Passepartout, despite his theatrical disguise. He quickly
concealed himself in his cabin, 157 to avoid an awkward explanation, and
hoped—thanks to the number of passengers—to remain
unperceived by Mr. Fogg’s servant.

On that very day, however, he met Passepartout face to face on the
forward deck. The latter, without a word, made a rush for him,
grasped him by the throat, and, much to the amusement of a group of
Americans, who immediately began to bet on him, administered to the
detective a perfect volley of blows, which proved the great
superiority of French over English pugilistic skill.

When Passepartout had finished, he found himself relieved and
comforted. Fix got up in a somewhat rumpled condition, and, looking
at his adversary, coldly said, “Have you done?”

“For this time—yes.”

“Then let me have a word with you.”

“But I—”

“In your master’s interest.”

Passepartout seemed to be vanquished by Fix’s coolness, for he
quietly followed him, and they sat down aside from the rest of the
passengers.

“You have given me a thrashing,” said Fix. “Good! I expected it.
Now, listen to me. Up to this time I have been Mr. Fogg’s
adversary. I am now in his game.”

“Aha!” cried Passepartout; “you are convinced he is an honest man?”

“No,” replied Fix coldly, “I think him a rascal. Sh!
don’t budge, and let me speak. As long as Mr. Fogg was on English
ground, it was for my interest to detain him there until my warrant of
arrest arrived. I did everything I could to keep him back. I sent the
Bombay priests after him, I got you intoxicated at Hong Kong, I separated
you from him, and I made him miss the Yokohama steamer.”

Passepartout listened, with closed fists.

“Now,” 158 resumed Fix, “Mr. Fogg seems to be going back
to England. Well, I will follow him there. But hereafter I will do as
much to keep obstacles out of his way as I have done up to this time to
put them in his path. I’ve changed my game, you see, and simply
because it was for my interest to change it. Your interest is the same
as mine; for it is only in England that you will ascertain whether you
are in the service of a criminal or an honest man.”

Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix, and was convinced
that he spoke with entire good faith.

CHAPTER XXV

In which a slight glimpse is had of San Francisco

I

T was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout
set foot upon the American continent, if this name can be given to
the floating quay upon which they disembarked. These quays, rising
and falling with the tide, thus facilitate the loading and unloading
of vessels. Alongside them were clippers of all sizes, steamers of
all nationalities, and the steamboats, with several decks rising one
above the other, which ply on the Sacramento and its tributaries.
There were also heaped up the products of a commerce which extends
to Mexico, Chile, Peru, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the Pacific
islands.

Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American continent,
thought he would manifest it by executing a perilous vault in fine
style; but, tumbling upon some worm-eaten planks, he fell through
them. Put out of countenance by the manner in which he thus “set
foot” upon the New World, he uttered a loud cry, which so
frightened the innumerable cormorants and pelicans that are always
perched upon these movable quays, that they flew noisily away.

Mr. Fogg, on reaching shore, proceeded to find out at what hour the
first train left for New York, and learned that this was at six
o’clock p.m.; he had, therefore, an entire day to160 spend in the
Californian capital.9 Taking a carriage at a charge of three dollars,
he and Aouda entered it, while Passepartout mounted the box beside
the driver, and they set out for the International Hotel.

From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much curiosity
the wide streets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the Anglo-Saxon
Gothic churches, the great docks, the palatial wooden and brick
warehouses, the numerous conveyances, omnibuses, horse-cars, and upon
the sidewalks, not only Americans and Europeans, but Chinese and
Indians. Passepartout was surprised at all he saw. San Francisco was
no longer the legendary city of 1849,—a city of banditti, assassins,
and incendiaries, who had flocked hither in crowds in pursuit of
plunder; a paradise of outlaws, where they gambled with gold-dust, a
revolver in one hand and a bowie-knife in the other; it was now a
great commercial emporium.

The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama of
the streets and avenues, which cut each other at right angles, and in
the midst of which appeared pleasant, verdant squares, while beyond
appeared the Chinese quarter, seemingly imported from the Celestial
Empire in a toy-box. Sombreros and red shirts and plumed Indians were
rarely to be seen; but there were silk hats and black coats everywhere
worn by a multitude of nervously active, gentlemanly-looking men.
Some of the streets—especially Montgomery Street, which is to
San Francisco what Regent Street is to London, the Boulevard des
Italiens to Paris, and Broadway to New York—were lined with
splendid and spacious stores, which exposed in their windows the
products of the entire world.

When Passepartout reached the International Hotel, it did not seem
to him as if he had left England at all.

The161 ground floor of the hotel was occupied by a large bar, a sort of
restaurant freely open to all passers-by, who might partake of dried
beef, oyster soup, biscuits, and cheese, without taking out their
purses. Payment was made only for the ale, porter, or sherry which
was drunk. This seemed “very American” to Passepartout.
The hotel refreshment-rooms were comfortable, and Mr. Fogg and Aouda,
installing themselves at a table, were abundantly served on diminutive
plates by Negroes of darkest hue.

After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for the
English consulate to have his passport visaed. As he was going out,
he met Passepartout, who asked him if it would not be well, before
taking the train, to purchase some dozens of Enfield rifles and
Colt’s revolvers. He had been listening to stories of attacks upon
the trains by the Sioux and Pawnees. Mr. Fogg thought it a useless
precaution, but told him to do as he thought best, and went on to the
consulate.

He had not proceeded two hundred steps, however, when, “by the
greatest chance in the world,” he met Fix. The detective seemed
wholly taken by surprise. What! Had Mr. Fogg and himself crossed the
Pacific together, and not met on the steamer! At least Fix felt honoured
to behold once more the gentleman to whom he owed so much, and as his
business recalled him to Europe, he should be delighted to continue the
journey in such pleasant company.

Mr. Fogg replied that the honour would be his; and the detective—who
was determined not to lose sight of him—begged permission to
accompany them in their walk about San Francisco—a request which Mr.
Fogg readily granted.

They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great crowd
was collected; the sidewalks, street, horse-car rails, the shop-doors,
the windows of the houses, and even the roofs, were full of people.
Men were going about carrying large posters, and flags and streamers
were floating162 in the wind, while loud cries were heard on every hand.

“Hurrah for Camerfield!”

“Hurrah for Mandiboy!”

It was a political meeting; at least so Fix conjectured, who said to
Mr. Fogg, “Perhaps we had better not mingle with the crowd. There may
be danger in it.”

“Yes,” returned Mr. Fogg; “and blows, even if they are political, are
still blows.”

Fix smiled at this remark; and in order to be able to see without
being jostled about, the party took up a position on the top of a
flight of steps situated at the upper end of Montgomery Street.
Opposite them, on the other side of the street, between a coal wharf
and a petroleum warehouse, a large platform had been erected in the
open air, towards which the current of the crowd seemed to be directed.

For what purpose was this meeting? What was the occasion of this
excited assemblage? Phileas Fogg could not imagine. Was it to
nominate some high official—a governor or member of Congress? It was
not improbable, so agitated was the multitude before them.

Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human mass.
All the hands were raised in the air. Some, tightly closed, seemed
to disappear suddenly in the midst of the cries—an energetic way, no
doubt, of casting a vote. The crowd swayed back, the banners and
flags wavered, disappeared an instant, then reappeared in tatters.
The undulations of the human surge reached the steps, while all the
heads floundered on the surface like a sea agitated by a squall. Many
of the black hats disappeared, and the greater part of the crowd
seemed to have diminished in height.

“It is evidently a meeting,” said Fix, “and its object must be an
exciting one. I should not wonder if it were about the Alabama,
despite the fact that that question is settled.”

“At least, there are two champions in presence of each other, the
Honourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr. Mandiboy.”

Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg’s arm, observed the tumultuous scene
with surprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the cause of it
all was. Before the man could reply, a fresh agitation arose; hurrahs and
excited shouts were heard; the staffs of the banners began to be used
as offensive weapons; and fists flew about in every direction.
Thumps were exchanged from the tops of the carriages and omnibuses
which had been blocked up in the crowd. Boots and shoes went whirling
through the air, and Mr. Fogg thought he even heard the crack of
revolvers mingling in the din. The rout approached the stairway, and
flowed over the lower step. One of the parties had evidently been
repulsed; but the mere lookers-on could not tell whether Mandiboy or
Camerfield had gained the upper hand.

“It would be prudent for us to retire,” said Fix, who was anxious
that Mr. Fogg should not receive any injury, at least until they got
back to London. “If there is any question about England in all this,
and we were recognized, I fear it would go hard with us.”

“An English subject—” began Mr. Fogg.

He did not finish his sentence; for a terrific hubbub now arose on
the terrace behind the flight of steps where they stood, and there
were frantic shouts of, “Hurrah for Mandiboy! Hip, hip, hurrah!”

It was a band of voters coming to the rescue of their allies, and
taking the Camerfield forces in flank. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix found
themselves between two fires; it was too late to escape. The torrent
of men, armed with loaded canes and sticks, was irresistible. Phileas
Fogg and Fix were roughly hustled in their attempts to protect their
fair companion; 164 the former, as cool as ever, tried to defend himself
with the weapons which nature has placed at the end of every
Englishman’s arm, but in vain. A big brawny fellow with a red
beard, flushed face, and broad shoulders, who seemed to be the chief
of the band, raised his clenched fist to strike Mr. Fogg, whom he
would have given a crushing blow, had not Fix rushed in and received
it in his stead. An enormous bruise immediately made its appearance
under the detective’s silk hat, which was completely smashed in.

The human tide now swept by, after overturning Fix, who speedily got
upon his feet again, though with tattered clothes. Happily, he was
not seriously hurt. His travelling overcoat was divided into two
unequal parts, and his trousers resembled those of certain Indians,
which fit less compactly than they are easy to put on. Aouda had
escaped unharmed, and Fix alone bore marks of the fray in his black
and blue bruise.

“Thanks,” said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were out
of the crowd.

“No thanks are necessary,” replied Fix; “but let us go.”

“Where?”

“To a tailor’s.”

Such a visit was, indeed, opportune. The clothing of both Mr. Fogg
and Fix was in rags, as if they had themselves been actively engaged
in the contest between Camerfield and Mandiboy. An hour after, they
were once more suitably attired, and with Aouda returned to the
International Hotel.

Passepartout165 was waiting for his master, armed with half a dozen
six-barrelled revolvers. When he perceived Fix, he knit his brows;
but Aouda having, in a few words, told him of their adventure, his
countenance resumed its placid expression. Fix evidently was no
longer an enemy, but an ally; he was faithfully keeping his word.

Dinner over, the coach which was to convey the passengers and their
luggage to the station drew up to the door. As he was getting in, Mr.
Fogg said to Fix, “You have not seen this Colonel Proctor again?”

“No.”

“I will come back to America to find him,” said Phileas Fogg
calmly. “It would not be right for an Englishman to permit himself
to be treated in that way, without retaliating.”

The detective smiled, but did not reply. It was clear that Mr. Fogg
was one of those Englishmen who, while they do not tolerate duelling
at home, fight abroad when their honour is attacked.

At a quarter before six the travellers reached the station, and
found the train ready to depart. As he was about to enter it, Mr.
Fogg called a porter, and said to him, “My friend, was there not some
trouble to-day in San Francisco?”

CHAPTER XXVI

In which Phileas Fogg and party
travel by the Pacific Railroad

“F

ROM ocean to ocean,”—so say the Americans; and these four words
compose the general designation of the “great trunk line”
which crosses the entire width of the United States. The Pacific
Railroad is, however, really divided into two distinct lines: the
Central Pacific, between San Francisco and Ogden, and the Union
Pacific, between Ogden and Omaha. Five main lines connect Omaha
with New York.

New York and San Francisco are thus united by an uninterrupted metal
ribbon, which measures no less than three thousand seven hundred and
eighty-six miles. Between Omaha and the Pacific the railway crosses
a territory which is still infested by Indians and wild beasts, and
a large tract which the Mormons, after they were driven from Illinois
in 1845, began to colonize.

The journey from New York to San Francisco consumed, formerly, under
the most favourable conditions, at least six months. It is now
accomplished in seven days.

It was in 1862 that, in spite of the Southern Members of Congress,
who wished a more southerly route, it was decided to lay the road
between the forty-first and forty-second parallels. President Lincoln
himself fixed the end of the line at Omaha, in Nebraska. The work was
at once commenced, and167 pursued with true American energy; nor did the
rapidity with which it went on injuriously affect its good
execution. The road grew, on the prairies, a mile and a half a day. A
locomotive, running on the rails laid down the evening before,
brought the rails to be laid on the morrow, and advanced upon them as
fast as they were put in position.

The Pacific Railroad is joined by several branches in Iowa, Kansas,
Colorado, and Oregon. On leaving Omaha, it passes along the left bank
of the Platte River as far as the junction of its northern branch,
follows its southern branch, crosses the Laramie territory and the
Wahsatch Mountains, turns the Great Salt Lake, and reaches Salt Lake
City, the Mormon capital, plunges into the Tuilla Valley, across the
American Desert, Cedar and Humboldt Mountains, the Sierra Nevada, and
descends, via Sacramento, to the Pacific,—its grade, even on the
Rocky Mountains, never exceeding one hundred and twelve feet to the
mile.

Such was the road to be traversed in seven days, which would enable
Phileas Fogg—at least, so he hoped—to take the Atlantic steamer at
New York on the 11th for Liverpool.

The car which he occupied was a sort of long omnibus on eight
wheels, and with no compartments in the interior. It was supplied
with two rows of seats, perpendicular to the direction of the train
on either side of an aisle which conducted to the front and rear
platforms. These platforms were found throughout the train, and the
passengers were able to pass from one end of the train to the other.
It was supplied with saloon cars, balcony cars, restaurants, and
smoking-cars; theatre cars alone were wanting, and they will have
these some day.

Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, drinkables, and cigars,
who seemed to have plenty of customers, were continually circulating
in the aisles.

The168 train left Oakland station at six o’clock. It was already night,
cold and cheerless, the heavens being overcast with clouds which
seemed to threaten snow. The train did not proceed rapidly; counting
the stoppages, it did not run more than twenty miles an hour, which
was a sufficient speed, however, to enable it to reach Omaha within
its designated time.

There was but little conversation in the car, and soon many of the
passengers were overcome with sleep. Passepartout found himself
beside the detective; but he did not talk to him. After recent
events, their relations with each other had grown somewhat cold;
there could no longer be mutual sympathy or intimacy between them.
Fix’s manner had not changed; but Passepartout was very reserved, and
ready to strangle his former friend on the slightest provocation.

Snow began to fall an hour after they started, a fine snow, however,
which happily could not obstruct the train; nothing could be seen
from the windows but a vast, white sheet, against which the smoke of
the locomotive had a grayish aspect.

At eight o’clock a steward entered the car and announced that the
time for going to bed had arrived; and in a few minutes the car was
transformed into a dormitory. The backs of the seats were thrown
back, bedsteads carefully packed were rolled out by an ingenious
system, berths were suddenly improvised, and each traveller had soon
at his disposition a comfortable bed, protected from curious eyes by
thick curtains. The sheets were clean and the pillows soft.
It only remained to go to bed and sleep—which everybody did—while
the train sped on across the State of California.

The country between San Francisco and Sacramento is not very
hilly. The Central Pacific, taking Sacramento for its starting-point,
extends eastward to meet the road from Omaha. 169 The line from San
Francisco to Sacramento runs in a north-easterly direction, along the
American River, which empties into San Pablo Bay. The one hundred and
twenty miles between these cities were accomplished in six hours, and
towards midnight, while fast asleep, the travellers passed through
Sacramento; so that they saw nothing of that important place, the
seat of the State government, with its fine quays, its broad streets,
its noble hotels, squares, and churches.

The train, on leaving Sacramento, and passing the junction, Roclin,
Auburn, and Colfax, entered the range of the Sierra Nevada. Cisco
was reached at seven in the morning; and an hour later the dormitory
was transformed into an ordinary car, and the travellers could
observe the picturesque beauties of the mountain region through which
they were steaming. The railway track wound in and out among the
passes, now approaching the mountain sides, now suspended over
precipices, avoiding abrupt angles by bold curves, plunging into
narrow defiles, which seemed to have no outlet. The locomotive, its
great funnel emitting a weird light, with its sharp bell, and its
cow-catcher extended like a spur, mingled its shrieks and bellowings
with the noise of torrents and cascades, and twined its smoke among
the branches of the gigantic pines.

There were few or no bridges or tunnels on the route. The railway
turned around the sides of the mountains, and did not attempt to
violate nature by taking the shortest cut from one point to another.

The train entered the State of Nevada through the Carson Valley
about nine o’clock, going always north-easterly; and at midday reached
Reno, where there was a delay of twenty minutes for breakfast.

From this point the road, running along Humboldt River, passed
northward for several miles by its banks; then it170 turned eastward,
and kept by the river until it reached the Humboldt Range, nearly at
the extreme eastern limit of Nevada.

Having breakfasted, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed their places
in the car, and observed the varied landscape which unfolded itself
as they passed along; the vast prairies, the mountains lining the
horizon, and the creeks with their frothy, foaming streams.
Sometimes a great herd of buffaloes, massing together in the
distance, seemed like a movable dam. These innumerable multitudes
of ruminating beasts often form an insurmountable obstacle to the
passage of the trains; thousands of them have been seen passing over
the track for hours together, in compact ranks. The locomotive is
then forced to stop and wait till the road is once more clear.

This happened, indeed, to the train in which Mr. Fogg was travelling.
About three in the afternoon,10 a troop of ten or twelve thousand head of
buffalo encumbered the track. The locomotive, slackening its speed,
tried to clear the way with its cow-catcher; but the mass of animals
was too great. The buffaloes marched along with a tranquil gait,
uttering now and then deafening bellowings. There was no use of
interrupting them, for, having taken a particular direction, nothing
can moderate and change their course; it is a torrent of living flesh
which no dam could contain.

The travellers gazed on this curious spectacle from the platforms;
but Phileas Fogg, who had the most reason of all to be in a hurry,
remained in his seat, and waited philosophically171 until it should
please the buffaloes to get out of the way.

Passepartout was furious at the delay they occasioned, and longed to
discharge his arsenal of revolvers upon them.

“What a country!” cried he. “Mere cattle stop the
trains, and go by in a procession, just as if they were not impeding
travel! Parbleu! I should like to know if Mr. Fogg foresaw this mishap
in his programme! And here’s an engineer who doesn’t dare
to run the locomotive into this herd of beasts!”

The engineer did not try to overcome the obstacle, and he was wise.
He would have crushed the first buffaloes, no doubt, with the
cow-catcher; but the locomotive, however powerful, would soon have been
checked, the train would inevitably have been thrown off the track,
and would then have been helpless.

The best course was to wait patiently, and regain the lost time by
greater speed when the obstacle was removed. The procession of
buffaloes lasted three full hours, and it was night before the track
was clear. The last ranks of the herd were now passing over the
rails, while the first had already disappeared below the southern
horizon.

It was eight o’clock when the train passed through the defiles of
the Humboldt Range, and half-past nine when it penetrated Utah, the
region of the Great Salt Lake, the singular colony of the Mormons.

CHAPTER XXVII

In which Passepartout undergoes, at a speed of
twenty miles an hour, a course of Mormon history

D

URING the night of the 5th of December, the train ran
south-easterly for about fifty miles; then rose an equal distance in a
north-easterly direction, towards the Great Salt Lake.

Passepartout, about nine o’clock, went out upon the platform to take
the air. The weather was cold, the heavens gray, but it was not snowing.
The sun’s disc, enlarged by the mist, seemed an enormous ring of
gold, and Passepartout was amusing himself by calculating its value
in pounds sterling, when he was diverted from this interesting study
by a strange-looking personage who made his appearance on the platform.

This personage, who had taken the train at Elko, was tall and dark,
with black moustaches, black stockings, a black silk hat, a black
waistcoat, black trousers, a white cravat, and dogskin gloves. He
might have been taken for a clergyman. He went from one end of the
train to the other, and affixed to the door of each car a notice
written in manuscript.

Passepartout approached and read one of these notices, which stated
that Elder William Hitch, Mormon missionary, taking advantage of his
presence on train No. 48, would deliver a lecture on Mormonism in car
No. 117, from eleven to twelve o’clock; and that he invited all who
were desirous of173 being instructed concerning the mysteries of the
religion of the “Latter Day Saints” to attend.

“I’ll go,” said Passepartout to himself. He knew nothing of
Mormonism except the custom of polygamy, which is its foundation.

The news quickly spread through the train, which contained about one
hundred passengers, thirty of whom, at most, attracted by the notice,
ensconced themselves in car No. 117. Passepartout took one of the front
seats. Neither Mr. Fogg nor Fix cared to attend.

At the appointed hour Elder William Hitch rose, and, in an irritated
voice, as if he had already been contradicted, said, “I tell you that
Joe Smith is a martyr, that his brother Hiram is a martyr, and that
the persecutions of the United States Government against the prophets
will also make a martyr of Brigham Young. Who dares to say the
contrary?”

No one ventured to gainsay the missionary, whose excited tone
contrasted curiously with his naturally calm visage. No doubt his
anger arose from the hardships to which the Mormons were actually
subjected. The government had just succeeded, with some difficulty,
in reducing these independent fanatics to its rule. It had made itself
master of Utah, and subjected that territory to the laws of the Union,
after imprisoning Brigham Young on a charge of rebellion and polygamy.
The disciples of the prophet had since redoubled their efforts, and
resisted, by words at least, the authority of Congress. Elder Hitch,
as is seen, was trying to make proselytes on the very railway trains.

Then, emphasizing his words with his loud voice and frequent
gestures, he related the history of the Mormons from Biblical times:
how that, in Israel, a Mormon prophet of the tribe of Joseph
published the annals of the new religion, and bequeathed them to his
son Morom; how, many centuries later, a translation of this precious
book, which was written174 in Egyptian, was made by Joseph Smith,
Junior, a Vermont farmer, who revealed himself as a mystical prophet
in 1825; and how, in short, the celestial messenger appeared to him
in an illuminated forest, and gave him the annals of the Lord.

Several of the audience, not being much interested in the
missionary’s narrative, here left the car; but Elder Hitch,
continuing his lecture, related how Smith, Junior, with his father,
two brothers, and a few disciples, founded the church of the “Latter
Day Saints,” which, adopted not only in America, but in England,
Norway and Sweden, and Germany, counts many artisans, as well as men
engaged in the liberal professions, among its members; how a colony
was established in Ohio, a temple erected there at a cost of two
hundred thousand dollars, and a town built at Kirkland; how Smith
became an enterprising banker, and received from a simple mummy
showman a papyrus scroll written by Abraham and several famous
Egyptians.

The Elder’s story became somewhat wearisome, and his audience
grew gradually less, until it was reduced to twenty passengers.
But this did not disconcert the enthusiast, who proceeded with the
story of Joseph Smith’s bankruptcy in 1837, and how his ruined
creditors gave him a coat of tar and feathers; his reappearance some
years afterwards, more honourable and honoured than ever, at
Independence, Missouri, the chief of a flourishing colony of three
thousand disciples, and his pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles, and
retirement into the far West.

Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout, who
was listening with all his ears. Thus he learned that, after long
persecutions, Smith reappeared in Illinois, and in 1839 founded a
community at Nauvoo, on the Mississippi, numbering twenty-five
thousand souls, of which he became mayor, chief justice, and
general-in-chief; that he announced175 himself, in 1843, as a candidate
for the Presidency of the United States; and that finally, being
drawn into ambuscade at Carthage, he was thrown into prison, and
assassinated by a band of men disguised in masks.

Passepartout was now the only person left in the car, and the Elder,
looking him full in the face, reminded him that, two years after the
assassination of Joseph Smith, the inspired prophet, Brigham Young,
his successor, left Nauvoo for the banks of the Great Salt Lake,
where, in the midst of that fertile region, directly on the route of
the emigrants who crossed Utah on their way to California, the new
colony, thanks to the polygamy practised by the Mormons, had
flourished beyond expectations.

“And this,” added Elder William Hitch,—“this is why
the jealousy of Congress has been aroused against us! Why have the
soldiers of the Union invaded the soil of Utah? Why has Brigham Young,
our chief, been imprisoned, in contempt of all justice? Shall we yield
to force? Never! Driven from Vermont, driven from Illinois, driven from
Ohio, driven from Missouri, driven from Utah, we shall yet find some
independent territory on which to plant our tents. And you, my
brother,” continued the Elder, fixing his angry eye upon his
single auditor, “will you not plant yours there, too, under the
shadow of our flag?”

“No!” replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring from
the car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy.

During the lecture the train had been making good progress, and
towards half-past twelve it reached the north-west border of the Great
Salt Lake. Thence the passengers could observe the vast extent of
this interior sea, which is also called the Dead Sea, and into which
flows an American Jordan. It is a picturesque expanse, framed in
lofty crags in large strata, encrusted with white salt,—a superb
sheet of water, 176 which was formerly of larger extent than now, its
shores having encroached with the lapse of time, and thus at once
reduced its breadth and increased its depth.

The Salt Lake, seventy miles long and thirty-five wide, is situated
three thousand 11 eight hundred feet above the sea. Quite different from
Lake Asphaltite, whose depression is twelve hundred feet below the
sea, it contains considerable salt, and one quarter of the weight of
its water is solid matter, its specific weight being 1170, and, after
being distilled, 1000. Fishes are of course unable to live in it,
and those which descend through the Jordan, the Weber, and other
streams, soon perish.

The country around the lake was well cultivated, for the Mormons are
mostly farmers; while ranches and pens for domesticated animals,
fields of wheat, corn, and other cereals, luxuriant prairies, hedges
of wild rose, clumps of acacias and milk-wort, would have been seen
six months later. Now the ground was covered with a thin powdering of
snow.

The train reached Ogden at two o’clock, where it rested for six
hours. Mr. Fogg and his party had time to pay a visit to Salt Lake
City, connected with Ogden by a branch road; and they spent two hours
in this strikingly American town, built on the pattern of other
cities of the Union, like a checker-board, “with the sombre sadness
of right angles,” as Victor Hugo expresses it. The founder of
the City of the Saints could not escape from the taste for symmetry
which distinguishes177 the Anglo-Saxons. In this strange country, where
the people are certainly not up to the level of their institutions,
everything is done “squarely,”—cities, houses, and follies.

The travellers, then, were promenading, at three o’clock, about the
streets of the town built between the banks of the Jordan and the
spurs of the Wahsatch Range. They saw few or no churches, but the
prophet’s mansion, the court-house, and the arsenal, blue-brick
houses with verandas and porches, surrounded by gardens bordered with
acacias, palms, and locusts. A clay and pebble wall, built in 1853,
surrounded the town; and in the principal street were the market and
several hotels adorned with pavilions. The place did not seem thickly
populated. The streets were almost deserted, except in the vicinity of
the Temple, which they only reached after having traversed several
quarters surrounded by palisades. There were many women, which was
easily accounted for by the “peculiar institution” of the
Mormons; but it must not be supposed that all the Mormons are polygamists.
They are free to marry or not, as they please; but it is worth
noting that it is mainly the female citizens of Utah who are anxious
to marry, as, according to the Mormon religion, maiden ladies are not
admitted to the possession of its highest joys. These poor creatures
seemed to be neither well off nor happy. Some—the more well-to-do,
no doubt—wore short, open black silk dresses, under a hood or
modest shawl; others were habited in Indian fashion.

Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these women,
charged, in groups, with conferring happiness on a single Mormon.
His common sense pitied, above all, the husband. It seemed to him a
terrible thing to have to guide so many wives at once across the
vicissitudes of life, and to conduct them, as it were, in a body to
the Mormon paradise, with the prospect of seeing them in the company
of the glorious178 Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament of that
delightful place, to all eternity. He felt decidedly repelled from
such a vocation, and he imagined—perhaps he was mistaken—that the
fair ones of Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances on his
person. Happily, his stay there was but brief. At four the party
found themselves again at the station, took their places in the
train, and the whistle sounded for starting. Just at the moment,
however, that the locomotive wheels began to move, cries of “Stop!
stop!” were heard.

Trains, like time and tide, stop for no one. The gentleman who
uttered the cries was evidently a belated Mormon. He was breathless
with running. Happily for him, the station had neither gates nor
barriers. He rushed along the track, jumped on the rear platform of
the train, and fell exhausted into one of the seats.

Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur gymnast,
approached him with lively interest, and learned that he had taken
flight after an unpleasant domestic scene.

When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout ventured to
ask him politely how many wives he had; for, from the manner in which
he had decamped, it might be thought that he had twenty at least.

“One, sir,” replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward,—“one,
and that was enough!”

CHAPTER XXVIII

In which Passepartout does not succeed
in making anybody listen to reason

T

HE train, on leaving Great Salt Lake at Ogden, passed northward for
an hour as far as Weber River, having completed nearly nine hundred
miles from San Francisco. From this point it took an easterly
direction towards the jagged Wahsatch Mountains. It was in the section
included between this range and the Rocky Mountains that the American
engineers found the most formidable difficulties in laying the road,
and that the government granted a subsidy of forty-eight thousand
dollars per mile, instead of sixteen thousand allowed for the work
done on the plains. But the engineers, instead of violating nature,
avoided its difficulties by winding around, instead of penetrating
the rocks. One tunnel only, fourteen thousand feet in length, was
pierced in order to arrive at the great basin.

The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at the
Great Salt Lake. From this point it described a long curve,
descending towards Bitter Creek Valley, to rise again to the dividing
ridge of the waters between the Atlantic and the Pacific. There were
many creeks in this mountainous region, and it was necessary to cross
Muddy Creek, Green Creek, and others, upon culverts.

Passepartout180 grew more and more impatient as they went on, while Fix
longed to get out of this difficult region, and was more anxious than
Phileas Fogg himself to be beyond the danger of delays and accidents,
and set foot on English soil.

At ten o’clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station,
and twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the
valley of Bitter Creek throughout. The next day, December 7th, they
stopped for a quarter of an hour at Green River station. Snow had
fallen abundantly during the night, but, being mixed with rain, it
had half melted, and did not interrupt their progress. The bad
weather, however, annoyed Passepartout; for the accumulation of
snow, by blocking the wheels of the cars, would certainly have been
fatal to Mr. Fogg’s tour.

“What an idea!” he said to himself. “Why did my master make this
journey in winter? Couldn’t he have waited for the good season to
increase his chances?”

While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky and
the depression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing fears from
a totally different cause.

Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up
and down the platforms; and among these Aouda recognized Colonel
Stamp Proctor, the same who had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at
the San Francisco meeting. Not wishing to be recognized, the young
woman drew back from the window, feeling much alarm at her discovery.
She was attached to the man who, however coldly, gave her daily
evidences of the most absolute devotion. She did not comprehend,
perhaps, the depth of the sentiment with which her protector inspired
her, which she called gratitude, but which, though she was unconscious
of it, was really more than that. Her heart sank within her when she
recognized the man whom Mr. Fogg desired, sooner or later, to call
to account181 for his conduct. Chance alone, it was clear, had brought
Colonel Proctor on this train; but there he was, and it was necessary,
at all hazards, that Phileas Fogg should not perceive his adversary.

Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep, to tell Fix and
Passepartout whom she had seen.

“That Proctor on this train!” cried Fix. “Well,
reassure yourself, madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg, he has
got to deal with me! It seems to me that I was the more insulted
of the two.”

“And besides,” added Passepartout, “I’ll take
charge of him, colonel as he is.”

“Mr. Fix,” resumed Aouda, “Mr. Fogg will allow no
one to avenge him. He said that he would come back to America to find
this man. Should he perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a
collision which might have terrible results. He must not see him.”

“You are right, madam,” replied Fix; “a meeting between them might
ruin all. Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg would be
delayed, and—”

“And,” added Passepartout, “that would play the game of the
gentlemen of the Reform Club. In four days we shall be in New York.
Well, if my master does not leave this car during those four days, we
may hope that chance will not bring him face to face with this
confounded American. We must, if possible, prevent his stirring out
of it.”

The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was looking
out of the window. Soon after Passepartout, without being heard by
his master or Aouda, whispered to the detective, “Would you really
fight for him?”

“I would do anything,” replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed
determined will, “to get him back, living, to Europe!”

Passepartout182 felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame,
but his confidence in his master remained unbroken.

Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a
meeting between him and the colonel? It ought not to be a difficult
task, since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and little
curious. The detective, at least, seemed to have found a way; for, after a
few moments, he said to Mr. Fogg, “These are long and slow hours,
sir, that we are passing on the railway.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Fogg; “but they pass.”

“You were in the habit of playing whist,” resumed Fix, “on the
steamers.”

“Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither cards
nor partners.”

“Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all the
American trains. And as for partners, if madam plays—”

“Certainly, sir,” Aouda quickly replied; “I understand whist.
It is part of an English education.”

“I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game.
Well, here are three of us, and a dummy—”

Passepartout was despatched in search of the steward, and soon
returned with two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf
covered with cloth.

The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and
even received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg.
As for the detective, he was simply an adept, and worthy of being
matched against his present opponent.

“Now,” thought Passepartout, “we’ve got him. He won’t budge.”

At183 eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge
of the waters at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and
twenty-four feet above the level of the sea, one of the highest points
attained by the track in crossing the Rocky Mountains. After going
about two hundred miles, the travellers at last found themselves on
one of those vast plains which extend to the Atlantic, and which
nature has made so propitious for laying the iron road.

On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams, branches
of the North Platte River, already appeared. The whole northern and
eastern horizon was bounded by the immense semicircular curtain which
is formed by the southern portion of the Rocky Mountains, the highest
being Laramie Peak. Between this and the railway extended vast plains,
plentifully irrigated. On the right rose the lower spurs of the
mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources of the Arkansas
River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri.

At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of
Fort Halleck, which commands that section; and in a few more hours
the Rocky Mountains were crossed. There was reason to hope, then,
that no accident would mark the journey through this difficult
country. The snow had ceased falling, and the air became crisp and
cold. Large birds, frightened by the locomotive, rose and flew off in
the distance. No wild beast appeared on the plain. It was a desert
in its vast nakedness.

After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his
partners had just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard,
and the train stopped. Passepartout put his head out of the door,
but saw nothing to cause the delay; no station was in view.

Aouda184 and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to
get out; but that gentleman contented himself with saying to his
servant, “See what is the matter.”

Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers had
already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.

The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way.
The engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man,
whom the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place, had
sent on before. The passengers drew around and took part in the
discussion, in which Colonel Proctor, with his insolent manner, was
conspicuous.

Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, “No! you
can’t pass. The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would not bear
the weight of the train.”

This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a mile
from the place where they now were. According to the signal-man, it
was in a ruinous condition, several of the iron wires being broken;
and it was impossible to risk the passage. He did not in any way
exaggerate the condition of the bridge. It may be taken for granted
that, rash as the Americans usually are, when they are prudent there
is good reason for it.

Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard,
listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue.

“Hum!” cried Colonel Proctor; “but we are not going
to stay here, I imagine, and take root in the snow?”

“Colonel,” replied the conductor, “we have telegraphed to Omaha for
a train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow in less
than six hours.”

“Six hours!” cried Passepartout.

“Certainly,” returned the conductor. “Besides, it will take us as
long as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot.”

“That’s impossible. The creek is swelled by the rains. It is a
rapid, and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north
to find a ford.”

The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway
company and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious, was not
disinclined to make common cause with him. Here was an obstacle,
indeed, which all his master’s bank-notes could not remove.

There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who,
without reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge
fifteen miles over a plain covered with snow. They grumbled and
protested, and would certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg’s
attention, if he had not been completely absorbed in his game.

Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what
had occurred, and, with hanging head he was turning towards the car,
when the engineer—a true Yankee, named Forster—called out,
“Gentlemen, perhaps there is a way, after all, to get over.”

“On the bridge?” asked a passenger.

“On the bridge.”

“With our train?”

“With our train.”

Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer.

“But the bridge is unsafe,” urged the conductor.

“No matter,” replied Forster; “I think that by putting on the very
highest speed we might have a chance of getting over.”

“The devil!” muttered Passepartout.

But186 a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the
engineer’s proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted,
and found the plan a very feasible one. He told stories about
engineers leaping their trains over rivers without bridges, by
putting on full steam; and many of those present avowed themselves of
the engineer’s mind.

“We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over,” said one.

“Eighty! ninety!”

Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything to
get over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too
American. “Besides,” thought he, “there’s a
still more simple way, and it does not even occur to any of these
people! Sir,” said he aloud to one of the passengers, “the
engineer’s plan seems to me a little dangerous, but—”

“Eighty chances!” replied the passenger, turning his back on him.

“I know it,” said Passepartout, turning to another passenger, “but a
simple idea—”

“Ideas are no use,” returned the American, shrugging his shoulders,
“as the engineer assures us that we can pass.”

“Doubtless,” urged Passepartout, “we can pass, but perhaps it would
be more prudent—”

“I afraid? Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman can
be as American as they!”

“All aboard!” cried the conductor.

“Yes, all aboard!” repeated Passepartout, and immediately.
“But they can’t prevent me from thinking that it would be more
natural for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come
after!”

But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would any one have
acknowledged its justice. The passengers resumed their places in the
cars. Passepartout took his seat without telling what had passed.
The whist-players were quite absorbed in their game.

The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the
steam, backed the train for nearly a mile—retiring, like a jumper,
in order to take a longer leap. Then, with another whistle, he began
to move forward; the train increased its speed, and soon its rapidity
became frightful; a prolonged screech issued from the locomotive; the
piston worked up and down twenty strokes to the second. They
perceived that the whole train, rushing on at the rate of a hundred
miles an hour, hardly bore upon the rails at all.

And they passed over! It was like a flash. No one saw the bridge.
The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other, and the
engineer could not stop it until it had gone five miles beyond the
station. But scarcely had the train passed the river, when the
bridge, completely ruined, fell with a crash into the rapids of
Medicine Bow.

CHAPTER XXIX

In which certain incidents are narrated which
are only to be met with on American railroads

T

HE train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption,
passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyenne Pass, and reaching Evans
Pass. The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey,
eight thousand and ninety-one feet above the level of the sea.
The travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless
plains, levelled by nature. A branch of the “grand trunk”
led off southward to Denver, the capital of Colorado. The country
round about is rich in gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand
inhabitants are already settled there.

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San
Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days and nights more
would probably bring them to New York. Phileas Fogg was not as yet
behindhand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole
Creek ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the
territories of Wyoming and Colorado. They entered Nebraska at eleven,
passed near Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern
branch of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the
23rd of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge.
Two powerful locomotives, carrying nine189 cars of invited guests,
amongst whom was Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road,
stopped at this point; cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees
performed an imitation Indian battle, fireworks were let off, and the
first number of the Railway Pioneer was printed by a press brought on
the train. Thus was celebrated the inauguration of this great
railroad, a mighty instrument of progress and civilization, thrown
across the desert, and destined to link together cities and towns
which do not yet exist. The whistle of the locomotive, more powerful
than Amphion’s lyre, was about to bid them rise from American soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three
hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching
Omaha. The road followed the capricious windings of the southern
branch of the Platte River, on its left bank. At nine the train
stopped at the important town of North Platte, built between the
two arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and form
a single artery,—a large tributary whose waters empty into the
Missouri a little above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one—not even
the dummy—complained of the length of the trip. Fix had begun by
winning several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he
showed himself a not less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg. During
the morning, chance distinctly favoured that gentleman. Trumps and
honours were showered upon his hands.

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of
playing a spade, when a voice behind him said, “I should play a
diamond.”

“Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds,” replied Colonel
Proctor, in an insolent tone.

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been
played, adding, “You don’t understand anything about whist.”

“Perhaps I do, as well as another,” said Phileas Fogg, rising.

“You have only to try, son of John Bull,” replied the colonel.

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold. She seized Mr. Fogg’s arm
and gently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the
American, who was staring insolently at his opponent. But Fix got up,
and, going to Colonel Proctor said, “You forget that it is I
with whom you have to deal, sir; for it was I whom you not only
insulted, but struck!”

“Mr. Fix,” said Mr. Fogg, “pardon me, but this affair is mine, and
mine only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I
should not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it.”

“When and where you will,” replied the American, “and with whatever
weapon you choose.”

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the
detective endeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to
throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master
checked him. Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed him
upon the platform.

“Sir,” 191 said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, “I am in a
great hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be
greatly to my disadvantage.”

“Well, what’s that to me?” replied Colonel Proctor.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg, very politely, “after our meeting at San
Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as
I had completed the business which called me to England.”

“Really!”

“Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?”

“Why not ten years hence?”

“I say six months,” returned Phileas Fogg, “and I shall be at the
place of meeting promptly.”

“All this is an evasion,” cried Stamp Proctor. “Now or never!”

“Very good. You are going to New York?”

“No.”

“To Chicago?”

“No.”

“To Omaha?”

“What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?”

“No,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“It’s the next station. The train will be there in an hour, and will
stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots could
be exchanged.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg. “I will stop at Plum Creek.”

“And I guess you’ll stay there too,” added the American insolently.

“Who knows?” replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as
usual. He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were
never to be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching
duel, a request which the detective could192 not refuse. Mr. Fogg
resumed the interrupted game with perfect calmness.

At eleven o’clock the locomotive’s whistle announced that they were
approaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix,
went out upon the platform. Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a
pair of revolvers. Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the
platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second. But
just as the combatants were about to step from the train, the
conductor hurried up, and shouted, “You can’t get off, gentlemen!”

“Why not?” asked the colonel.

“We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop.”

“But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman.”

“I am sorry,” said the conductor, “but we shall
be off at once. There’s the bell ringing now.”

The train started.

“I’m really very sorry, gentlemen,” said the conductor.
“Under any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige
you. But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not
fight as we go along?”

“That wouldn’t be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman,”
said the colonel, in a jeering tone.

“It would be perfectly so,” replied Phileas Fogg.

“Well, we are really in America,” thought Passepartout, “and the
conductor is a gentleman of the first order!”

So muttering, he followed his master.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through
the cars to the rear of the train. The last car was only occupied by
a dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would
not be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two
gentlemen had an affair193 of honour to settle. The passengers granted
the request with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for
their purpose. The adversaries might march on each other in the
aisle, and fire at their ease. Never was duel more easily arranged.
Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-barrelled
revolvers, entered the car. The seconds, remaining outside, shut them
in. They were to begin firing at the first whistle of the locomotive.
After an interval of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen
would be taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix
and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack.
They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage
cries resounded in the air, accompanied by reports which certainly
did not issue from the car where the duellists were. The reports
continued in front and the whole length of the train. Cries of terror
proceeded from the interior of the cars.

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted
their prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most
clamorous. They then perceived that the train was attacked by a
band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more
than once they had waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of them had,
according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the
train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop.

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to
which the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by
revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the
engineer and stoker with blows from their muskets. A Sioux chief,
wishing to stop the train, but not knowing194 how to work the regulator,
had opened wide instead of closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive
was plunging forward with terrific velocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like
enraged monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and
fighting hand to hand with the passengers. Penetrating the baggage-car,
they pillaged it, throwing the trunks out of the train. The cries
and shots were constant.

The travellers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars were
barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried along
at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

Aouda behaved courageously from the first. She defended herself, like
a true heroine, with a revolver, which she shot through the broken
windows whenever a savage made his appearance. Twenty Sioux had
fallen mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those
who fell upon the rails as if they had been worms. Several
passengers, shot or stunned, lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for
ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if
the train was not stopped. Fort Kearney station, where there was a
garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed, the
Sioux would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney and the
station beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and
fell. At the same moment he cried, “Unless the train is stopped
in five minutes, we are lost!”

“It shall be stopped,” said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the
car.

“Stay, monsieur,” cried Passepartout; “I will go.”

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door
unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and
while the struggle continued, and the195 balls whizzed across each other
over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience, and with
amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on to the
chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes,
creeping from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus
gaining the forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender,
with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the
traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar,
had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out. The train, now
detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the
locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for
several minutes; but the brakes were worked, and at last they stopped,
less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the
Sioux had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train
entirely stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform
several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman,
whose devotion had just saved them.

CHAPTER XXX

In which Phileas Fogg simply does his duty

T

HREE passengers—including Passepartout—had disappeared. Had they
been killed in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by the
Sioux? It was impossible to tell.

There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was one
of the most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a ball had
entered his groin. He was carried into the station with the other
wounded passengers, to receive such attention as could be of avail.

Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of
the fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in
the arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down
Aouda’s cheeks.

All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which
were stained with blood. From the tires and spokes hung ragged pieces
of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the white plain behind,
red trails were visible. The last Sioux were disappearing in the
south, along the banks of Republican River.

Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious
decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without
speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant was a prisoner,
ought he not to risk everything to197 rescue him from the Indians? “I
will find him, living or dead,” said he quietly to Aouda.

“Ah, Mr.—Mr. Fogg!” cried she, clasping his hands and covering them
with tears.

“Living,” added Mr. Fogg, “if we do not lose a moment.”

Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he
pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would make him
lose the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly lost.
But as he thought, “It is my duty,” he did not hesitate.

The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of his
soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend the station,
should the Sioux attack it.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to the captain, “three passengers have
disappeared.”

“Dead?” asked the captain.

“Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved.
Do you propose to pursue the Sioux?”

“That’s a serious thing to do, sir,” returned the captain.
“These Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave
the fort unprotected.”

“Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish,—him to whom
every one present owes his life? I shall go.”

“No, 198 sir, you shall not go alone,” cried the captain, touched in
spite of himself. “No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!”
he added, turning to the soldiers.

The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only to
pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed at their
head.

“Thanks, captain,” said Mr. Fogg.

“Will you let me go with you?” asked Fix.

“Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favour, you will
remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me—”

A sudden pallor overspread the detective’s face. Separate himself
from the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step!
Leave him to wander about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively at
Mr. Fogg, and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle which was
going on within him, he lowered his eyes before that calm and frank
look.

“I will stay,” said he.

A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman’s hand, and,
having confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off with the
sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he had said to the
soldiers, “My friends, I will divide five thousand dollars among you,
if we save the prisoners.”

It was then a little past noon.

Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone,
thinking of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of
Phileas Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking his
life, all without hesitation, from duty, in silence.

Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal his
agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but soon
resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly of which he had
been guilty in letting Fogg go alone. 199 What! This man, whom he had
just followed around the world, was permitted now to separate himself
from him! He began to accuse and abuse himself, and, as if he were
director of police, administered to himself a sound lecture for his
greenness.

“I have been an idiot!” he thought, “and this man will see it.
He has gone, and won’t come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who
have in my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated
by him? Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!”

So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too slowly.
He did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to tell Aouda
all; but he could not doubt how the young woman would receive his
confidences. What course should he take? He thought of pursuing Fogg
across the vast white plain; it did not seem impossible that he might
overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed on the snow! But soon,
under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced.

Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing to
abandon the game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney station,
and pursue his journey homeward in peace.

Towards two o’clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard,
long whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great shadow,
preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger
through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect. No train was
expected from the east, neither had there been time for the succour
asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from Omaha to San
Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery was soon
explained.

The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening
whistles, was that which, having been detached from the train, had
continued its route with such terrific rapidity, 200 carrying off the
unconscious engineer and stoker. It had run several miles, when, the
fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam had slackened; and it
had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond Fort
Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after
remaining for some time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The
train had then stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the
desert, and the locomotive without cars, understood what had
happened. He could not imagine how the locomotive had become
separated from the train; but he did not doubt that the train left
behind was in distress.

He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue on
to Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train, which the
Indians might still be engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless, he began
to rebuild the fire in the furnace; the pressure again mounted, and
the locomotive returned, running backwards to Fort Kearney. This it
was which was whistling in the mist.

The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at
the head of the train. They could now continue the journey so
terribly interrupted.

Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station,
and asked the conductor, “Are you going to start?”

“It201 is impossible,” responded the conductor. “If you wish to go,
please get in.”

“I will not go,” said Aouda.

Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there
was no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his mind
to leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was there, ready to
start, and he had only to take his seat in the car, an irresistible
influence held him back. The station platform burned his feet, and he
could not stir. The conflict in his mind again began; anger and
failure stifled him. He wished to struggle on to the end.

Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them Colonel
Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their places in the
train. The buzzing of the overheated boiler was heard, and the steam
was escaping from the valves. The engineer whistled, the train
started, and soon disappeared, mingling its white smoke with the
eddies of the densely falling snow.

The detective had remained behind.

Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very cold.
Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have been
thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming out of the
waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and peering through
the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist which narrowed the
horizon around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome sound. She
heard and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled through, to
issue out again after the lapse of a few moments, but always in vain.

Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could they
be? Had they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with
them, or were they still wandering amid the mist? The commander of
the fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal his apprehensions.
As night202 approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became
intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the plains. Neither flight
of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.

Throughout the night Aouda, full of sad forebodings, her heart
stifled with anguish, wandered about on the verge of the plains.
Her imagination carried her far off, and showed her innumerable
dangers. What she suffered through the long hours it would be
impossible to describe.

Fix remained stationary in the same place, but did not sleep.
Once a man approached and spoke to him, and the detective merely
replied by shaking his head.

Thus the night passed. At dawn, the half-extinguished disk of the
sun rose above a misty horizon; but it was now possible to recognize
objects two miles off. Phileas Fogg and the squad had gone southward;
in the south all was still vacancy. It was then seven o’clock.

The captain, who was really alarmed, did not know what course to take.
Should he send another detachment to the rescue of the first?
Should he sacrifice more men, with so few chances of saving those
already sacrificed? His hesitation did not last long, however.
Calling one of his lieutenants, he was on the point of ordering a
reconnaissance, when gunshots were heard. Was it a signal?
The soldiers rushed out of the fort, and half a mile off they
perceived a little band returning in good order.

Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were
Passepartout and the other two travellers, rescued from the Sioux.

They had met and fought the Indians ten miles south of Fort
Kearney. Shortly before the detachment arrived, Passepartout and his
companions had begun to struggle with their captors, three of whom
the Frenchman had felled with his203 fists, when his master and the
soldiers hastened up to their relief.

All were welcomed with joyful cries. Phileas Fogg distributed the
reward he had promised to the soldiers, while Passepartout, not
without reason, muttered to himself, “It must certainly be confessed
that I cost my master dear!”

Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would have
been difficult to analyze the thoughts which struggled within him.
As for Aouda, she took her protector’s hand and pressed it in her
own, too much moved to speak.

Meanwhile, Passepartout was looking about for the train; he thought
he should find it there, ready to start for Omaha, and he hoped that
the time lost might be regained.

“No; on a sledge,” replied Fix. “On a sledge with sails.
A man has proposed such a method to me.”

It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and whose
offer he had refused.

Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix having pointed out the
man, who was walking up and down in front of the station, Mr. Fogg
went up to him. An instant after, Mr. Fogg and the American, whose
name was Mudge, entered a hut built just below the fort.

There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two
long beams, a little raised in front like the runners of a sledge,
and upon which there was room for five or six persons. A high mast
was fixed on the frame, held firmly by metallic lashings, to which
was attached a large brigantine sail. This mast held an iron stay
upon which to hoist a jib-sail. Behind, a sort of rudder served to
guide the vehicle. It was, in short, a sledge rigged like a sloop.
During the winter, when the trains are blocked up by the snow,
these sledges make extremely rapid journeys across the frozen plains
from one station to another. Provided with more sail than a cutter,
and with the wind behind them, they slip over the surface of the
prairies with a speed equal if not superior to that of the express
trains.

Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this landcraft.
The wind was favourable, being fresh, and blowing from the west.
The snow had hardened, and Mudge was very confident of being able to
transport Mr. Fogg in a few hours to Omaha. Thence the trains
eastward run frequently to Chicago and New York. It was not
impossible that the lost time might yet be recovered; and such an
opportunity was not to be rejected.

Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of travelling in the
open air, Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her with206 Passepartout at Fort
Kearney, the servant taking upon himself to escort her to Europe by a
better route and under more favourable conditions. But Aouda refused
to separate from Mr. Fogg, and Passepartout was delighted with her
decision; for nothing could induce him to leave his master while Fix
was with him.

It would be difficult to guess the detective’s thoughts. Was his
conviction shaken by Phileas Fogg’s return, or did he still regard
him as an exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the world
completed, would think himself absolutely safe in England? Perhaps
Fix’s opinion of Phileas Fogg was somewhat modified; but he was
nevertheless resolved to do his duty, and to hasten the return of the
whole party to England as much as possible.

At eight o’clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers took
their places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely in their
travelling-cloaks. The two great sails were hoisted, and under the
pressure of the wind the sledge slid over the hardened snow with a
velocity of forty miles an hour.

The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the birds fly, is at
most two hundred miles. If the wind held good, the distance might be
traversed in five hours; if no accident happened, the sledge might
reach Omaha by one o’clock.

What a journey! The travellers, huddled close together, could not
speak for the cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were
going. The sledge sped on as lightly as a boat over the waves. When the
breeze came, skimming the earth, the sledge seemed to be lifted off the
ground by its sails. Mudge, who was at the rudder, kept in a straight
line, and by a turn of his hand checked the lurches which the vehicle
had a tendency to make. All the sails were up, and the jib was so
arranged as not to screen the brigantine. A topmast207 was hoisted, and
another jib, held out to the wind, added its force to the other
sails. Although the speed could not be exactly estimated, the sledge
could not be going at less than forty miles an hour.

“If nothing breaks,” said Mudge, “we shall get there!”

Mr. Fogg had made it for Mudge’s interest to reach Omaha within the
time agreed on, by the offer of a handsome reward.

The prairie, across which the sledge was moving in a straight line,
was as flat as a sea. It seemed like a vast frozen lake. The railroad
which ran through this section ascended from the south-west to the
north-west by Great Island, Columbus, an important Nebraska town,
Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha. It followed throughout the right
bank of the Platte River. The sledge, shortening this route, took the
chord of the arc described by the railway. Mudge was not afraid of
being stopped by the Platte River, because it was frozen. The road,
then, was quite clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but two
things to fear,—an accident to the sledge, and a change or calm
in the wind.

But the breeze, far from lessening its force, blew as if to bend the
mast, which, however, the metallic lashings held firmly. These
lashings, like the chords of a stringed instrument, resounded as if
vibrated by a violin bow. The sledge slid along in the midst of a
plaintively intense melody.

“Those chords give the fifth and the octave,” said Mr. Fogg.

These were the only words he uttered during the journey. Aouda,
cosily packed in furs and cloaks, was sheltered as much as possible
from the attacks of the freezing wind. As for Passepartout, his face
was as red as the sun’s disk when it sets in the mist, and he
laboriously inhaled the biting air. With his natural buoyancy of
spirits, he began to hope again. They would reach New York on the
evening, if not208 on the morning, of the 11th, and there were still
some chances that it would be before the steamer sailed for Liverpool.

Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by
the hand. He remembered that it was the detective who procured the
sledge, the only means of reaching Omaha in time; but, checked by some
presentiment, he kept his usual reserve. One thing, however,
Passepartout would never forget, and that was the sacrifice which Mr.
Fogg had made, without hesitation, to rescue him from the Sioux. Mr.
Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No! His servant would never
forget that!

While each of the party was absorbed in reflections so different,
the sledge flew fast over the vast carpet of snow. The creeks it
passed over were not perceived. Fields and streams disappeared
under the uniform whiteness. The plain was absolutely deserted.
Between the Union Pacific road and the branch which unites Kearney
with Saint Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island. Neither
village, station, nor fort appeared. From time to time they sped by
some phantom-like tree, whose white skeleton twisted and rattled in
the wind. Sometimes flocks of wild birds rose, or bands of gaunt,
famished, ferocious prairie-wolves ran howling after the sledge.
Passepartout, revolver in hand, held himself ready to fire on
those which came too near. Had an accident then happened to the
sledge, the travellers, attacked by these beasts, would have been in
the most terrible danger; but it held on its even course, soon gained
on the wolves, and ere long left the howling band at a safe distance
behind.

About noon Mudge perceived by certain landmarks that he was crossing
the Platte River. He said nothing, but he felt certain that he was
now within twenty miles of Omaha. In less than an hour he left the
rudder and furled his sails, whilst the209 sledge, carried forward by
the great impetus the wind had given it, went on half a mile further
with its sails unspread.

It stopped at last, and Mudge, pointing to a mass of roofs white
with snow, said, “We have got there!”

Arrived! Arrived at the station which is in daily communication, by
numerous trains, with the Atlantic seaboard!

Passepartout and Fix jumped off, stretched their stiffened limbs,
and aided Mr. Fogg and the young woman to descend from the sledge.
Phileas Fogg generously rewarded Mudge, whose hand Passepartout
warmly grasped, and the party directed their steps to the Omaha
railway station.

The Pacific Railroad proper finds its terminus at this important
Nebraska town. Omaha is connected with Chicago by the Chicago and
Rock Island Railroad, which runs directly east, and passes fifty
stations.

A train was ready to start when Mr. Fogg and his party reached the
station, and they only had time to get into the cars. They had seen
nothing of Omaha; but Passepartout confessed to himself that this was
not to be regretted, as they were not travelling to see the sights.

The train passed rapidly across the State of Iowa, by Council
Bluffs, Des Moines, and Iowa City. During the night it crossed the
Mississippi at Davenport, and by Rock Island entered Illinois. The
next day, which was the 10th, at four o’clock in the evening, it
reached Chicago, already risen from its ruins, and more proudly
seated than ever on the borders of its beautiful Lake Michigan.

Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but trains are
not wanting at Chicago. Mr. Fogg passed at once from one to the
other, and the locomotive of the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne, and Chicago
Railway left at full speed, as if it fully comprehended that that
gentleman had no time to lose. It traversed Indiana, Ohio,
Pennsylvania, and New210 Jersey like a flash, rushing through towns with
antique names, some of which had streets and car-tracks, but as yet
no houses. At last the Hudson came into view; and at a quarter-past
eleven in the evening of the 11th, the train stopped in the station
on the right bank of the river, before the very pier of the Cunard
line.

The China, for Liverpool, had started three quarters of an hour
before!

CHAPTER XXXII

In which Phileas Fogg engages in
a direct struggle with bad fortune

T

HE China, in leaving, seemed to have carried off Phileas Fogg’s
last hope. None of the other steamers were able to serve his
projects. The Pereire, of the French Transatlantic Company, whose
admirable steamers are equal to any in speed and comfort, did not
leave until the 14th; the Hamburg boats did not go directly to
Liverpool or London, but to Havre; and the additional trip from Havre
to Southampton would render Phileas Fogg’s last efforts of no
avail. The Inman steamer did not depart till the next day, and could
not cross the Atlantic in time to save the wager.

Mr. Fogg learned all this in consulting his Bradshaw, which gave him
the daily movements of the transatlantic steamers.

Passepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat by
three quarters of an hour. It was his fault, for, instead of helping
his master, he had not ceased putting obstacles in his path! And when
he recalled all the incidents of the tour, when he counted up the
sums expended in pure loss and on his own account, when he thought
that the immense stake, added to the heavy charges of this useless
journey, would completely ruin Mr. Fogg, he overwhelmed himself with
bitter self-accusations. Mr. Fogg, however, did not212 reproach him;
and, on leaving the Cunard pier, only said, “We will consult about
what is best to-morrow. Come.”

The party crossed the Hudson in the Jersey City ferryboat, and drove
in a carriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway. Rooms were
engaged, and the night passed, briefly to Phileas Fogg, who slept
profoundly, but very long to Aouda and the others, whose agitation
did not permit them to rest.

The next day was the 12th of December. From seven in the morning of
the 12th, to a quarter before nine in the evening of the 21st, there
were nine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes. If Phileas
Fogg had left in the China, one of the fastest steamers on the
Atlantic, he would have reached Liverpool, and then London, within
the period agreed upon.

Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout
instructions to await his return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an
instant’s notice. He proceeded to the banks of the Hudson,
and looked about among the vessels moored or anchored in the river,
for any that were about to depart. Several had departure signals,
and were preparing to put to sea at morning tide; for in this
immense and admirable port, there is not one day in a hundred that
vessels do not set out for every quarter of the globe. But they
were mostly sailing vessels, of which, of course, Phileas Fogg
could make no use.

He seemed about to give up all hope, when he espied, anchored at the
Battery, a cable’s length off at most, a trading vessel, with a
screw, well-shaped, whose funnel, puffing a cloud of smoke, indicated
that she was getting ready for departure.

Phileas Fogg hailed a boat, got into it, and soon found himself on
board the Henrietta, iron-hulled, wood-built above. He ascended to
the deck, and asked for the captain, who213 forthwith presented himself.
He was a man of fifty, a sort of sea-wolf, with big eyes, a
complexion of oxidized copper, red hair and thick neck, and a
growling voice.

Phileas Fogg did not betray the least disappointment; but the
situation was a grave one. It was not at New York as at Hong Kong,
nor with the captain of the Henrietta as with the captain of the
Tankadere. Up to this time money had smoothed away every obstacle.
Now money failed.

Still, some means must be found to cross the Atlantic on a boat,
unless by balloon,—which would have been venturesome, besides not
being capable of being put in practice. It seemed that Phileas Fogg
had an idea, for he said to the captain, “Well, will you carry
me to Bordeaux?”

“No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars.”

“I offer you two thousand.”

“Apiece?”

“Apiece.”

“And there are four of you?”

“Four.”

Captain Speedy began to scratch his head. There were eight thousand
dollars to gain, without changing his route; for which it was well
worth conquering the repugnance he had for all kinds of passengers.
Besides, passengers at two thousand dollars are no longer
passengers, but valuable merchandise. “I start at nine
o’clock,” said Captain Speedy, simply. “Are you
and your party ready?”

“We will be on board at nine o’clock,” replied, no
less simply, Mr. Fogg.

It was half-past eight. To disembark from the Henrietta, jump into a
hack, hurry to the St. Nicholas, and return with Aouda, Passepartout,
and even the inseparable Fix, was the work215 of a brief time, and was
performed by Mr. Fogg with the coolness which never abandoned him.
They were on board when the Henrietta made ready to weigh anchor.

When Passepartout heard what this last voyage was going to cost, he
uttered a prolonged “Oh!” which extended throughout his vocal gamut.

As for Fix, he said to himself that the Bank of England would
certainly not come out of this affair well indemnified. When they
reached England, even if Mr. Fogg did not throw some handfuls of
bank-bills into the sea, more than seven thousand pounds would
have been spent!

CHAPTER XXXIII

In which Phileas Fogg shows himself
equal to the occasion

A

N hour after, the Henrietta passed the lighthouse which marks the
entrance of the Hudson, turned the point of Sandy Hook, and put to
sea. During the day she skirted Long Island, passed Fire Island, and
directed her course rapidly eastward.

At noon the next day, a man mounted the bridge to ascertain the
vessel’s position. It might be thought that this was Captain
Speedy. Not the least in the world. It was Phileas Fogg, Esquire.
As for Captain Speedy, he was shut up in his cabin under lock and
key, and was uttering loud cries, which signified an anger at once
pardonable and excessive.

What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wished to go to
Liverpool, but the captain would not carry him there. Then Phileas
Fogg had taken passage for Bordeaux, and, during the thirty hours
he had been on board, had so shrewdly managed with his bank-notes
that the sailors and stokers, who were only an occasional crew,
and were not on the best terms with the captain, went over to him
in a body. This was why Phileas Fogg was in command instead of Captain
Speedy; why the captain was a prisoner in his cabin; and why, in
short, the Henrietta was directing her course towards Liverpool.
It was very clear, to see Mr. Fogg manage the craft, that he had
been a sailor.

How217 the adventure ended will be seen anon. Aouda was anxious, though
she said nothing. As for Passepartout, he thought Mr. Fogg’s
manœuvre simply glorious. The captain had said “between eleven and
twelve knots,” and the Henrietta confirmed his prediction.

If, then—for there were “ifs” still—the sea did not become too
boisterous, if the wind did not veer round to the east, if no
accident happened to the boat or its machinery, the Henrietta might
cross the three thousand miles from New York to Liverpool in the nine
days, between the 12th and the 21st of December. It is true that,
once arrived, the affair on board the Henrietta, added to that of
the Bank of England, might create more difficulties for Mr. Fogg than
he imagined or could desire.

During the first days, they went along smoothly enough. The sea was
not very unpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the north-east,
the sails were hoisted, and the Henrietta ploughed across the waves
like a real transatlantic steamer.

Passepartout was delighted. His master’s last exploit, the
consequences of which he ignored, enchanted him. Never had the crew
seen so jolly and dexterous a fellow. He formed warm friendships with
the sailors, and amazed them with his acrobatic feats. He thought
they managed the vessel like gentlemen, and that the stokers fired up
like heroes. His loquacious good humour infected every one. He had
forgotten the past, its vexations and delays. He only thought of the
end, so nearly accomplished; and sometimes he boiled over with
impatience, as if heated by the furnaces of the Henrietta. Often,
also, the worthy fellow revolved around Fix, looking at him with a
keen, distrustful eye; but he did not speak to him, for their old
intimacy no longer existed.

Fix, it must be confessed, understood nothing of what was going
on. The conquest of the Henrietta, the bribery of the218 crew, Fogg
managing the boat like a skilled seaman, amazed and confused him. He
did not know what to think. For, after all, a man who began by
stealing fifty-five thousand pounds might end by stealing a vessel;
and Fix was not unnaturally inclined to conclude that the Henrietta
under Fogg’s command, was not going to Liverpool at all, but to some
part of the world where the robber, turned into a pirate, would
quietly put himself in safety. The conjecture was at least a
plausible one, and the detective began to seriously regret that he
had embarked in the affair.

As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his cabin;
and Passepartout, whose duty it was to carry him his meals,
courageous as he was, took the greatest precautions. Mr. Fogg did not
seem even to know that there was a captain on board.

On the 13th they passed the edge of the Banks of Newfoundland, a
dangerous locality; during the winter, especially, there are frequent
fogs and heavy gales of wind. Ever since the evening before the
barometer, suddenly falling, had indicated an approaching change in
the atmosphere; and during the night the temperature varied, the cold
became sharper, and the wind veered to the south-east.

This was a misfortune. Mr. Fogg, in order not to deviate from his
course, furled his sails and increased the force of the steam; but
the vessel’s speed slackened, owing to the state of the sea, the long
waves of which broke against the stern. She pitched violently, and
this retarded her progress. The breeze little by little swelled into
a tempest, and it was to be feared that the Henrietta might not be
able to maintain herself upright on the waves.

Passepartout’s visage darkened with the skies, and for two days the
poor fellow experienced constant fright. But Phileas Fogg was a bold
mariner, and knew how to maintain headway against the sea; and he
kept on his course, without even219 decreasing his steam. The Henrietta,
when she could not rise upon the waves, crossed them, swamping her
deck, but passing safely. Sometimes the screw rose out of the water,
beating its protruding end, when a mountain of water raised the stern
above the waves; but the craft always kept straight ahead.

The wind, however, did not grow as boisterous as might have been
feared; it was not one of those tempests which burst, and rush on
with a speed of ninety miles an hour. It continued fresh, but,
unhappily, it remained obstinately in the south-east, rendering the
sails useless.

The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas Fogg’s
departure from London, and the Henrietta had not yet been seriously
delayed. Half of the voyage was almost accomplished, and the worst
localities had been passed. In summer, success would have been well-nigh
certain. In winter, they were at the mercy of the bad season. Passepartout
said nothing; but he cherished hope in secret, and comforted himself
with the reflection that, if the wind failed them, they might still
count on the steam.

On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg, and
began to speak earnestly with him. Without knowing why—it was a
presentiment, perhaps—Passepartout became vaguely uneasy. He would
have given one of his ears to hear with the other what the engineer
was saying. He finally managed to catch a few words, and was sure he
heard his master say, “You are certain of what you tell me?”

“Certain, sir,” replied the engineer. “You must remember
that, since we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces,
and though we had coal enough to go on short steam from New York to
Bordeaux, we haven’t enough to go with all steam from New York to
Liverpool.”

“I will consider,” replied Mr. Fogg.

Passepartout220 understood it all; he was seized with mortal anxiety.
The coal was giving out! “Ah, if my master can get over that,”
muttered he, “he’ll be a famous man!” He could not help
imparting to Fix what he had overheard.

“Then you believe that we really are going to Liverpool?”

“Of course.”

“Ass!” replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders and turning on
his heel.

Passepartout was on the point of vigorously resenting the epithet,
the reason of which he could not for the life of him comprehend; but
he reflected that the unfortunate Fix was probably very much
disappointed and humiliated in his self-esteem, after having so
awkwardly followed a false scent around the world, and refrained.

And now what course would Phileas Fogg adopt? It was difficult to
imagine. Nevertheless he seemed to have decided upon one, for that
evening he sent for the engineer, and said to him, “Feed all the
fires until the coal is exhausted.”

A few moments after, the funnel of the Henrietta vomited forth
torrents of smoke. The vessel continued to proceed with all steam on;
but on the 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted, announced that
the coal would give out in the course of the day.

“Do not let the fires go down,” replied Mr. Fogg.
“Keep them up to the last. Let the valves be filled.”

Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position, called
Passepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy. It was as if
the honest fellow had been commanded to unchain a tiger. He went to
the poop, saying to himself, “He will be like a madman!”

In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the
poop-deck. The bomb was Captain Speedy. It was clear that he was on
the point of bursting. “Where are we?” 221 were the first
words his anger permitted him to utter. Had the poor man been
apoplectic, he could never have recovered from his paroxysm of wrath.

“Where are we?” he repeated, with purple face.

“Seven hundred and seventy miles from Liverpool,”
replied Mr. Fogg, with imperturbable calmness.

“Here are sixty thousand,” replied Phileas Fogg, handing the captain
a roll of bank-bills. This had a prodigious effect on Andrew Speedy.
An American can scarcely remain unmoved at the sight of sixty
thousand dollars. The captain forgot in an instant his anger, his
imprisonment, and all his grudges against his passenger. The
Henrietta was twenty years old; it was a great bargain. The bomb
would not go off after all. Mr. Fogg had taken away the match.

“And I shall still have the iron hull,” said the captain in a softer
tone.

“The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed?”

“Agreed.”

And Andrew Speedy, seizing the bank-notes, counted them and consigned
them to his pocket.

During222 this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet, and Fix
seemed on the point of having an apoplectic fit. Nearly twenty
thousand pounds had been expended, and Fogg left the hull and engine
to the captain, that is, near the whole value of the craft! It is
true, however, that fifty-five thousand pounds had been stolen from
the bank.

When Andrew Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said to him,
“Don’t let this astonish you, sir. You must know that I
shall lose twenty thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by a
quarter before nine on the evening of the 21st of December. I missed
the steamer at New York, and as you refused to take me to
Liverpool—”

“And I did well!” cried Andrew Speedy; “for I have gained at least
forty thousand dollars by it!” He added, more sedately, “Do you know
one thing, Captain—”

“Fogg.”

“Captain Fogg, you’ve got something of the Yankee about you.”

And, having paid his passenger what he considered a high compliment,
he was going away, when Mr. Fogg said, “The vessel now belongs to me?”

“Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts,—all the wood,
that is.”

It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up to the
adequate pressure, and on that day the poop, cabins, bunks, and the
spare deck were sacrificed. On the next day, the 19th of December,
the masts, rafts, and spars were burned; the crew worked lustily,
keeping up the fires. Passepartout hewed, cut, and sawed away with
all his might. There was a perfect rage for demolition.

The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck, and top sides
disappeared on the 20th, and the Henrietta was now only223 a flat
hulk. But on this day they sighted the Irish coast and Fastnet Light.
By ten in the evening they were passing Queenstown. Phileas Fogg had
only twenty-four hours more in which to get to London; that length of
time was necessary to reach Liverpool, with all steam on.
And the steam was about to give out altogether!

“Sir,” said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in Mr.
Fogg’s project, “I really commiserate you. Everything is against you.
We are only opposite Queenstown.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Fogg, “is that place where we see the lights
Queenstown?”

“Yes.”

“Can we enter the harbour?”

“Not under three hours. Only at high tide.”

“Stay,” replied Mr. Fogg calmly, without betraying in his features
that by a supreme inspiration he was about to attempt once more to
conquer ill-fortune.

Queenstown is the Irish port at which the transatlantic steamers
stop to put off the mails. These mails are carried to Dublin by
express trains always held in readiness to start; from Dublin they
are sent on to Liverpool by the most rapid boats, and thus gain
twelve hours on the Atlantic steamers.

Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way.
Instead of arriving at Liverpool the next evening by the Henrietta,
he would be there by noon, and would therefore have time to reach
London before a quarter before nine in the evening.

The Henrietta entered Queenstown harbour at one o’clock in the
morning, it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being
grasped heartily by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that gentleman
on the levelled hulk of his craft, which was still worth half what he
had sold it for.

The party went on shore at once. Fix was greatly tempted to arrest
Mr. Fogg on the spot; but he did not. Why? What struggle224 was going on
within him? Had he changed his mind about “his man”?
Did he understand that he had made a grave mistake? He did not,
however, abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got upon the train, which was
just ready to start, at half-past one; at dawn of day they were in
Dublin; and they lost no time in embarking on a steamer which,
disdaining to rise upon the waves, invariably cut through them.

Phileas Fogg at last disembarked on the Liverpool quay, at twenty
minutes before twelve, December 21st. He was only six hours distant
from London.

But at this moment Fix came up, put his hand upon Mr. Fogg’s
shoulder, and, showing his warrant, said, “You are really Phileas
Fogg?”

CHAPTER XXXIV

In which Phileas Fogg at last reaches London

P

HILEAS FOGG was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom House,
and he was to be transferred to London the next day.

Passepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen
upon Fix, had he not been held back by some policeman. Aouda was
thunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which she could not
understand. Passepartout explained to her how it was that the honest
and courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber. The young woman’s
heart revolted against so heinous a charge, and when she saw that she
could attempt or do nothing to save her protector, wept bitterly.

As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty,
whether Mr. Fogg were guilty or not.

The thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of this
new misfortune! Had he not concealed Fix’s errand from his master?
When Fix revealed his true character and purpose, why had he not
told Mr. Fogg? If the latter had been warned, he would no doubt have
given Fix proof of his innocence, and satisfied him of his mistake;
at least, Fix would not have continued his journey at the expense and
on the heels of his master, only to arrest him the moment he set foot
on English soil. Passepartout wept till he was blind, and felt like
blowing his brains out.

Aouda226 and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of
the Custom House. Neither wished to leave the place; both were
anxious to see Mr. Fogg again.

That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was
about to attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having arrived at
Liverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st of December,
he had till a quarter before nine that evening to reach the Reform
Club, that is, nine hours and a quarter; the journey from Liverpool
to London was six hours.

If any one, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he would
have found Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent
anger, upon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true, resigned; but
this last blow failed to force him into an outward betrayal of any
emotion. Was he being devoured by one of those secret rages, all the
more terrible because contained, and which only burst forth, with an
irresistible force, at the last moment? No one could tell. There he
sat, calmly waiting—for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did
he still believe, now that the door of this prison was closed upon
him, that he would succeed?

However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon
the table, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped his
lips, but his look was singularly set and stern. The situation, in
any event, was a terrible one, and might be thus stated: If Phileas
Fogg was honest, he was ruined. If he was a knave, he was caught.

Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were any
practicable outlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping from it?
Possibly; for once he walked slowly around the room. But the door
was locked, and the window heavily barred with iron rods. He sat
down again, and drew his journal from his pocket. On the line where
these words were227 written, “December 21st, Saturday,
Liverpool,” he added, “80th day, 11.40 a.m.,” and
waited.

The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his watch
was two hours too fast.

Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an express
train, he could reach London and the Reform Club by a quarter before
nine, p.m. His forehead slightly wrinkled.

At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise outside,
then a hasty opening of doors. Passepartout’s voice was audible, and
immediately after that of Fix. Phileas Fogg’s eyes brightened for an
instant.

The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix, who
hurried towards him.

Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not
speak. “Sir,” he stammered, “sir—forgive
me—a most—unfortunate resemblance—robber arrested
three days ago—you—are free!”

Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him
steadily in the face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever made
in his life, or which he ever would make, drew back his arms, and
with the precision of a machine, knocked Fix down.

“Well hit!” cried Passepartout, “Parbleu! that’s what you might call
a good application of English fists!”

Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word. He had
only received his deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout left
the Custom House without delay, got into a cab, and in a few moments
descended at the station.

Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train about to leave for
London. It was forty minutes past two. The express train had left
thirty-five minutes before.

Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train.

There228 were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway
arrangements did not permit the special train to leave until three
o’clock.

At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by the
offer of a generous reward, at last set out towards London with Aouda
and his faithful servant.

It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half; and
this would have been easy on a clear road throughout. But there were
forced delays, and when Mr. Fogg stepped from the train at the
terminus, all the clocks in London were striking ten minutes before
nine.13

Having made the tour of the world, he was behindhand five minutes.
He had lost the wager!

CHAPTER XXXV

In which Phileas Fogg does not have to
repeat his orders to Passepartout twice

T

HE dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised, the next day,
if they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home. His doors
and windows were still closed, no appearance of change was visible.

After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions
to purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his domicile.

He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And
by the blundering of the detective! After having steadily traversed
that long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many dangers,
and still found time to do some good on his way, to fail near the
goal by a sudden event which he could not have foreseen, and against
which he was unarmed; it was terrible! But a few pounds were left of
the large sum he had carried with him. There only remained of his
fortune the twenty thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this
amount he owed to his friends of the Reform Club. So great had been
the expense of his tour, that, even had he won, it would not have
enriched him; and it is probable that he had not sought to enrich
himself, being a man who rather laid wagers for honour’s sake
than for the stake proposed. But this wager totally ruined him.

Mr. 230 Fogg’s course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what
remained for him to do.

A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who was
overwhelmed with grief at her protector’s misfortune. From the
words which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was meditating some
serious project.

Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to
the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch
upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so
doing.

First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had
extinguished the gas-burner, which had been burning for eighty days.
He had found in the letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he
thought it more than time to put a stop to this expense, which he had
been doomed to bear.

The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda did
not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like a
faithful dog, at his master’s door.

Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda’s
breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired Aouda
to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed
all day in putting his affairs to rights. In the evening he would ask
permission to have a few moment’s conversation with the young lady.

Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey
them. He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring
his mind to leave him. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured
by remorse; for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the
cause of the irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg,
and had betrayed Fix’s projects to him, his master would certainly
not have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then—

“My master! Mr. Fogg!” he cried, “why do you not curse me?
It was my fault that—”

“I blame no one,” returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect
calmness. “Go!”

Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he
delivered his master’s message.

“Madam,” he added, “I can do nothing myself—nothing!
I have no influence over my master; but you, perhaps—”

“What influence could I have?” replied Aouda. “Mr. Fogg is
influenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude to him
is overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend, he must not be
left alone an instant! You say he is going to speak with me this
evening?”

“Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in
England.”

“We shall see,” replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.

Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if
uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived
in that house, did not set out for his club when Westminster clock
struck half-past eleven.

Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer
expected him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on
the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter
before nine), he had lost his wager. It was not even necessary that
he should go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his
antagonists already had his check in their hands, and they had only
to fill it out and send it to the Barings to have the amount
transferred to their credit.

Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he remained
at home. He shut himself up in his room, and busied himself putting
his affairs in order. Passepartout continually232 ascended and descended
the stairs. The hours were long for him. He listened at his
master’s door, and looked through the keyhole, as if he had a
perfect right so to do, and as if he feared that something terrible
might happen at any moment. Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no
longer in anger. Fix, like all the world, had been mistaken in Phileas
Fogg, and had only done his duty in tracking and arresting him; while
he, Passepartout— This thought haunted him, and he never ceased
cursing his miserable folly.

Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at Aouda’s
door, went into her room, seated himself, without speaking, in a
corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still
pensive.

About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if Aouda
would receive him, and in a few moments he found himself alone with
her.

Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace, opposite
Aouda. No emotion was visible on his face. Fogg returned was exactly
the Fogg who had gone away; there was the same calm, the same
impassibility.

He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on
Aouda, “Madam,” said he, “will you pardon me for
bringing you to England?”

“I, Mr. Fogg!” replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart.

“Please let me finish,” returned Mr. Fogg. “When I decided to bring
you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you, I was
rich, and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your
disposal; then your existence would have been free and happy.
But now I am ruined.”

“Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me.
Still, I beg to place the little I have left at your service.”

“But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?”

“As for me, madam,” replied the gentleman, coldly, “I have need of
nothing.”

“But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?”

“As I am in the habit of doing.”

“At least,” said Aouda, “want should not overtake a man like you.
Your friends—”

“I have no friends, madam.”

“Your relatives—”

“I have no longer any relatives.”

“I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no
heart to which to confide your griefs. They say, though, that misery
itself, shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience.”

“They say so, madam.”

“Mr. Fogg,” said Aouda, rising, and seizing his hand, “do you wish at
once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife?”

Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted light in
his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his
face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft
glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to whom she
owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him. He shut his eyes
for an instant, as if to avoid her look. When he opened them again,
“I234 love you!” he said, simply. “Yes, by all that is
holiest, I love you, and I am entirely yours!”

“Ah!” cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.

Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg still
held Aouda’s hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big,
round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith.

Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend
Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone Parish, that evening.

CHAPTER XXXVI

In which Phileas Fogg’s name is once
more at a premium on ’Change

I

T is time to relate what a change took place in English public
opinion, when it transpired that the real bank-robber, a certain James
Strand, had been arrested, on the 17th of December, at Edinburgh.
Three days before, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal, who was being
desperately followed up by the police; now he was an honourable
gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journey round the
world.

The papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who
had laid bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by
magic; the “Phileas Fogg bonds” again became negotiable, and many new
wagers were made. Phileas Fogg’s name was once more at a premium on
’Change.

His five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a
state of feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had
forgotten, reappear before their eyes! Where was he at this moment?
The 17th of December, the day of James Strand’s arrest, was the
seventy-sixth since Phileas Fogg’s departure, and no news of him had
been received. Was he dead? Had he abandoned the effort, or was he
continuing his journey along the route agreed upon? And would he
appear on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter236 before nine
in the evening, on the threshold of the Reform Club saloon?

The anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot
be described. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of
Phileas Fogg. Messengers were despatched to the house in Saville Row
morning and evening. No news. The police were ignorant what had
become of the detective, Fix, who had so unfortunately followed
up a false scent. Bets increased, nevertheless, in number and
value. Phileas Fogg, like a race-horse, was drawing near his last
turning-point. The bonds were quoted, no longer at a hundred below
par, but at twenty, at ten, and at five; and paralytic old Lord
Albemarle bet even in his favour.

A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring
streets on Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers
permanently established around the Reform Club. Circulation was
impeded, and everywhere disputes, discussions, and financial
transactions were going on. The police had great difficulty in
keeping back the crowd, and as the hour when Phileas Fogg was due
approached, the excitement rose to its highest pitch.

The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon of
the club. John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew
Stuart, the engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of
England, and Thomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all waited anxiously.

When the clock indicated twenty-five 14 minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart
got up, saying, “Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed upon
between Mr. Fogg and ourselves will have expired.”

“What237 time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?” asked Thomas
Flanagan.

“Well, gentlemen,” resumed Andrew Stuart, “if Phileas
Fogg had come in the 7.23 train, he would have got here by this time.
We can therefore regard the bet as won.”

“Wait; don’t let us be too hasty,” replied Samuel Fallentin.
“You know that Mr. Fogg is very eccentric. His punctuality is well
known; he never arrives too soon, or too late; and I should not be
surprised if he appeared before us at the last minute.”

“Why,” said Andrew Stuart nervously, “if I should see him, I should
not believe it was he.”

“The fact is,” resumed Thomas Flanagan, “Mr. Fogg’s project was
absurdly foolish. Whatever his punctuality, he could not prevent the
delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of only two or three
days would be fatal to his tour.”

“Observe, too,” added John Sullivan, “that we have received no
intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all along
his route.”

“He has lost, gentleman,” said Andrew Stuart,—“he has a hundred
times lost! You know, besides, that the China—the only steamer he
could have taken from New York to get here in time—arrived yesterday.
I have seen a list of the passengers, and the name of Phileas Fogg is not
among them. Even if we admit that fortune has favoured him, he can
scarcely have reached America. I think he will be at least twenty days
behindhand, and that Lord Albemarle will lose a cool five thousand.”

“It is clear,” replied Gauthier Ralph; “and we have nothing to do
but to present Mr. Fogg’s check at Barings to-morrow.”

At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty
minutes to nine.

The five gentlemen looked at each other. Their anxiety was becoming
intense; but, not wishing to betray it, they readily assented to Mr.
Fallentin’s proposal of a rubber.

“I wouldn’t give up my four thousand of the bet,” said Andrew
Stuart, as he took his seat, “for three thousand nine hundred and
ninety-nine.”

The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.

The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes off
the clock. Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had never
seemed so long to them!

“Seventeen minutes to nine,” said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the
cards which Ralph handed to him.

Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was perfectly
quiet; but the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard, with now and
then a shrill cry. The pendulum beat the seconds, which each player
eagerly counted, as he listened, with mathematical regularity.

“Sixteen minutes to nine!” said John Sullivan, in a voice which
betrayed his emotion.

One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart and his
partners suspended their game. They left their cards, and counted the
seconds.

At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.

At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed by
applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.

The players rose from their seats.

At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened; and the
pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg appeared,
followed by an excited crowd who had forced their way through the
club doors, and in his calm voice, said, “Here I am, gentlemen!”

CHAPTER XXXVII

In which it is shown that Phileas Fogg gained
nothing by his tour around the world, unless it were happiness

Y

ES; Phileas Fogg in person.

The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the
evening—about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the
travellers in London—Passepartout had been sent by his master to
engage the services of the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain
marriage ceremony, which was to take place the next day.

Passepartout went on his errand enchanted. He soon reached the
clergyman’s house, but found him not at home. Passepartout
waited a good twenty minutes, and when he left the reverend gentleman,
it was thirty-five minutes past eight. But in what a state he was!
With his hair in disorder, and without his hat, he ran along the
street as never man was seen to run before, overturning passers-by,
rushing over the sidewalk like a waterspout.

In three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered breathlessly
into Mr. Fogg’s room.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” cried Passepartout. “You have made a mistake
of one day! We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of time; but there are
only ten minutes left!”

Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was dragging
him along with irresistible force.

Phileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think, left his
house, jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds to the cabman,
and, having run over two dogs and overturned five carriages, reached
the Reform Club.

The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in the
great saloon.

Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in eighty
days!

Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!

How was it that a man so exact and fastidious could have made this
error of a day? How came he to think that he had arrived in London on
Saturday, the twenty-first day of December, when it was really
Friday, the twentieth, the seventy-ninth day only from his departure?

The cause of the error is very simple.

Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his
journey, and this merely because he had travelled constantly
eastward; he would, on the contrary, have lost a day, had he gone in
the opposite direction, that is, westward.

In journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the days
therefore diminished for him as many times four minutes as he crossed
degrees in this direction. There are241 three hundred and sixty degrees
on the circumference of the earth; and these three hundred and sixty
degrees, multiplied by four minutes, gives precisely twenty-four
hours—that is, the day unconsciously gained. In other words, while
Phileas Fogg, going eastward, saw the sun pass the meridian eighty
times, his friends in London only saw it pass the meridian
seventy-nine times. This is why they awaited him at the Reform Club
on Saturday, and not Sunday, as Mr. Fogg thought.

And Passepartout’s famous family watch, which had always kept London
time, would have betrayed this fact, if it had marked the days as
well as the hours and the minutes!

Phileas Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but as he
had spent nearly nineteen thousand on the way, the pecuniary gain was
small. His object was, however, to be victorious, and not to win
money. He divided the one thousand pounds that remained between
Passepartout and the unfortunate Fix, against whom he cherished no
grudge. He deducted, however, from Passepartout’s share the cost of
the gas which had burned in his room for nineteen hundred and twenty
hours, for the sake of regularity.

That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever, said to
Aouda, “Is our marriage still agreeable to you?”

“Mr. Fogg,” replied she, “it is for me to ask that question.
You were ruined, but now you are rich again.”

“Pardon me, madam; my fortune belongs to you. If you had not
suggested our marriage, my servant would not have gone to the
Reverend Samuel Wilson’s, I should not have been apprised of my
error, and—”

“Dear Mr. Fogg!” said the young woman.

“Dear Aouda!” replied Phileas Fogg.

It need not be said that the marriage took place forty-eight hours
after, and that Passepartout, glowing and dazzling, 242 gave the bride
away. Had he not saved her, and was he not entitled to this honour?

The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped
vigorously at his master’s door. Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked,
“What’s the matter, Passepartout?”

“What is it, sir? Why, I’ve just this instant found out—”

“What?”

“That we might have made the tour of the world in only seventy-eight
days.”

“No doubt,” returned Mr. Fogg, “by not crossing India. But if I had
not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda; she would not have
been my wife, and—”

Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.

Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey around the
world in eighty days. To do this, he had employed every means of
conveyance—steamers, railways, carriages, yachts, trading-vessels,
sledges, elephants. The eccentric gentleman had throughout displayed
all his marvellous qualities of coolness and exactitude. But what
then? What had he really gained by all this trouble? What had he
brought back from this long and weary journey?

Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who,
strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!

Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the
world?

FOOTNOTES

1 Both Towle’s
translation and the original French edition say four hours, but,
actually, at this point Passepartout’s watch would have been
at least five hours behind (one hour for every 15 degrees of longitude
between his location and the Greenwich meridian).—J.M.

2 Both Towle’s
translation and Verne’s original have the 6th, but the correct date
is the 5th. The reason will be explained in the next footnote.—J.M.

3 As mentioned in the
last footnote, the steamer from Hong Kong to Yokohama was due to sail
on the 5th. Here Fogg arrived on the 6th, and the Carnatic
ought to have gone “yesterday.”—J.M.

4 Towle’s
translation has the 6th, which is incorrect as explained in the
previous note. Verne’s original has the correct date, the
5th.—J.M.

5 The day before
(page 111), it was “announced”
that the Carnatic would leave at “five the next
morning” not 9.30. Both Towle’s translation and
Verne’s original have this inconsistency.—J.M.

6 Both Towle’s
translation and Verne’s original say nine miles an hour, but,
actually, to travel 45 miles in 6 hours the Tankadere would
have had to keep up an average speed of only 7.5 miles an hour.—J.M.

7 Towle’s
translation and Verne’s original have the 7th, but that is incorrect.
As we’ve seen, the Carnatic set sail on the evening of the
same day Fogg arrived at Hong Kong, i.e., the 6th.—J.M.

8 Previous editions read
“warped and jet-black hair,” which makes little sense. The
original French reads “chevelure lisse et d’un noir
d’ébène.” The most common meaning of lisse is sleek
or smooth, not warped. A literal translation of that phrase would be
“sleek hair and of an ebony black.”—J.M.

9 Of course, the capital
isn’t San Francisco. Both Towle’s translation and Verne’s
original have this mistake. Later (page 169),
Sacramento is correctly referred to as “the seat of the State
government.”—J.M.

10 Previous editions
read “twelve o’clock,” but a few paragraphs later it’s
said that “The procession of buffaloes lasted three full hours, and it
was night before the track was clear,” which would mean that it was
night by 3 p.m.! The original French reads “trois heures du soir,”
i.e., three in the evening (afternoon is the more common English usage). So the
herd blocked the track at about 3 p.m. and cleared it around 6 p.m.—J.M.

11 Previous editions
read “three miles eight hundred feet above the sea” which
equals 16,640 feet. The original French reads “trois mille
huit cents pieds au-dessus du niveau de la mer.” While mille
is French for mile, it can also mean thousand, and is used both ways
many times in the original book. If Verne had meant three miles
here, he would have used the plural trois milles. In reality,
according to the U.S. Geological Survey, the Great Salt Lake’s
average surface elevation is 4,200 feet
(Great Salt Lake
- USGS).—J.M.

Book: Around the World in Eighty Days
Author: Jules Verne, 1828–1905
Translator: George Makepeace Towle, 1841–1893
First published: 1873

This ebook contains the text of George Towle’s English translation
of Le Tour du Monde en Quatre-Vingts Jours. (A few errors have
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